


If By Chance

by Starbuck0322



Category: Lie to Me (TV)
Genre: Angst, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Comfort and More Comfort, Crimes & Criminals, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:27:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 41,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23920816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starbuck0322/pseuds/Starbuck0322
Summary: Chance is meeting your perfect other, but what if by chance someone has a different plan for you in mind.
Relationships: Gillian Foster/Cal Lightman
Comments: 1
Kudos: 91





	1. Snowfall

**Author's Note:**

> This work was originally posted on Fanfiction.net and was written from Feb 17, 2011 to April 17, 2011. This work is complete.

The dark grey of winter was beginning to peak across the skyline of the city as Gillian Foster made her way across the parking lot of the city's largest mall.

The sky was thickening, dark and brooding above her. They were calling for snow; lots of it, heaps of it. Every time she turned on the radio, the television, the weatherman was adding inches to his previous guesstimation.

She hadn't seen snow of this magnitude since she was a little girl.

Locked within her house with her mother and father, her father had taught her chess; a game she now had mastered, had beat Cal at on a number of occasions.

Her father had taken the time to teach her everything he knew about the glorious game during those long days and nights. They had lost all power; had no TV to fill the house with noise, no radio to report the day's record breaking snowfall.

She smiled as she remembered them sitting together in the living room, a warm fire burning bright. Her mother had sat rocking, reading in the dim glow of the fire. Gillian had perched herself on her father's lap as they played each side, logistically mapping out each set of moves. Those were the times she missed; a time long gone.

She had learned the fine art of masking her expressions during this game, had developed her ability to keep her opponent guessing her next strategic move. And of course, with Cal it was always an easy game. He'd be so frustrated with not only her expert moves, but by his inability to read her facial expressions. She could take her time, toy with him, knowing full well his king would soon be hers.

Now with a heavy bag of groceries, two bottles of her favourite Australian Shiraz, and new plush throw tucked in her arms, she was ready and willing to lock herself into her house and let the snow fall around her. She relished at the thought of the world as it fell silent, covered by a thick blanketing of glistening white.

The multi-story car park ahead of her, she rounded the corner to her end of the parking lot, found it eerily vacant, all but for her silver Prius; a recommendation from Cal. She attempted to reach for her keys in the stillness, but found it difficult with her arms full of her treasures.

She sighed and stepped away from the comfort of the tall building, looked to her left and right, found herself alone in the lower level of the vacated cemented tower. Her heels echoed around her, made her eerily aware of her solitude.

She quickened her pace, edged closer to the car, griping tightly to her packages.

Her silence was quickly disrupted by the squealing of tires, the breaking of glass and a loud popping noise. Gillian Foster found herself suddenly engulfed by the darkness of the night.

She looked over her shoulder, watched as headlights shone on her, as the dark van rounded the corner she had passed. Instantly, she dropped her bags; wine bottles crashing to the cement flooring. Canned goods spilled out, rolled under the silver car as she pushed her hands heavily into her pockets retrieving her keys.

She did not look over her shoulder, did not look to watch as three dark hooded men jumped from their vehicle and ran toward her.

She managed to get the door open, managed to crawl inside, but it was not long before strong hands gripped tightly to her ankles and pulled her violently from her safety.


	2. Snow Day

Cal Lightman stepped from of the buzzing coffee shop, a venti Chai tea in hand. He looked up into the early morning sky, squinting into the sun. He found it hard to believe they were calling for snow, what was to be touted as the heaviest snowfall they'd seen in nearly 30 years.

Winter was finally looking to turn ugly on the citizens of Washington, DC. The city had neither the facilities nor the resources to deal with such a natural dumping. Citizens were opting to evacuate their homes, heading south to where the skies were clear and the roads were safe.

Cal shrugged his shoulders and wondered if this was some sort of prank the Canadians were playing on them. That they had collectively come together to send a gift to their neighbours to the south. If it was, Washington, DC was not laughing; at least not yet.

Still, the touted 10 inches that were to fall the previous night, had not, and Cal was feeling somewhat relieved as he stopped to wait at the busy intersection. Across the street, the building which housed the offices of The Lightman Group towered above him; glassed front bouncing the sun's reflection back onto the street below.

Cal searched the sidewalk in front of him for a familiar face. He checked his watch.

It was coming on 9:45am and Gillian Foster had yet to elegantly grace him with her presence. An oddity for the ever punctual Dr. Foster, she had always entered the office freshly pressed and bright eyed, contradictory to half dressed, ruffled early morning demeanour. Cal checked his watch again. Yes, tardiness was something that was never expected of Gillian; she left that up to Cal.

The light changed and Cal crossed the street.

* * *

Cal placed his tea down onto his desk and in rubbing his hands together, turned to greet his assistant, Anna, as she entered his office.

" _Good_ _morning_ ," Cal sang to her as she approached his desk, several file folders held tightly to her chest.

Anna cocked her head slowly and raised a single eyebrow. "Good morning, Dr. Lightman," she said hesitantly.

Cal raised his arms to the side and leaned slightly toward her. "Wha? Can't say g'morning?"

Anna's eyes opened wide as she racked her brain for the next thing to say. All lines from her face vanished. "You're very chipper this morning," she said matter-of-factly.

"Something wrong with that, is there? Can't be chipper and merry on this sunny morning?"

"N-No, it's nothing," she stammered. "I-It's just—"

"Out with it, then."

"I would have expected that from Dr. Foster, but not from you."

Cal glared playfully at his assistant, his sight eventually making contact with the thin stack of beige-coloured folders she hugged to her chest.

"All right then, Anna," he said sitting in his chair, lifting his feet onto his desk. He crossed his legs at his ankles. "Out with it; which multi-billion dollar organization are we going to save today?"

Anna stood motionless. Eyes widening again, she stared dumbfounded at her boss. "Ummm..."

Cal cocked his head toward her, grimacing. "Multi-million dollar?"

Anna's mouth dropped open slowly, words refusing to form.

"Multi-employee organization?" He reached, offering to take the folders from her.

Anna grinned nervously, baring white teeth to him. She presented him with the folders. "Would you believe bankrupt organization?" she asked hesitantly.

"Oh bloody hell," Cal gasped taking the folder forcefully. He opened the first folder and lifted out a single sheet; the only sheet in the file. "This?"

"Did I mention they're bankrupt?"

Cal rolled his eyes and skimmed the page. Without looking up he sighed. "This is Gillian's doing, isn't it?"

"Yes?" Anna offered with uncertainty.

Cal pursed his lips together and placed the page back into the folder. He shuffled the folders in his lap, opened the next file hoping for something exciting; a glimmer of hope at a payout that could keep them a float for at least another month. Instead, he was greeted with charity case after charity case. Nothing that screamed _'help us and we'll pay you handsomely'_. Instead, each file screamed ' _Gillian Foster's doing_ '.

He leaned to the side, raised his right arm to rest on the back of his chair. With his left elbow leaning against the arm of his chair, he placed his head in his hand. "This it, then?" he asked.

Anna's eyes widened and she gasped remembering. "Wait! Loker has something."

"Yes? Out with it then."

She paused trying to remember. "Some monkey thing with the _Smithsonian National Zoological Park_."

Cal looked back to her unimpressed. "Monkey thing?"

"Yes."

"That's it?"

"Slow season?" Anna returned raising her shoulders in a shrug.

"Slow season for liars, eh, Anna?"

"Yes?"

"There never is." Cal sighed again and reached for his tea. "All right then," he said looking up to her, smiling forcefully. "Thank you, love." He watched as she turned to leave. Suddenly, he remembered. "Speaking of Foster," Cal said, pausing to take a sip of his drink. "Ring her up, will ye? Tell her that if she doesn't get that tiny hiney of hers in here pronto, she's fired."

Anna paused at the door and turned slowly, her back straight. "Would you like me to use those exact words, sir?"

Cal grimaced toward her, mouth open. "Use your discretion."

Anna nodded and exited his office.

* * *

The skinny pile of beige-coloured folders stared back at Cal as he took another sip of his tea: a retail employer-employee overtime dispute; a family bickering over a not so price-less heirloom; something about a border collie; and two other cases which Cal had not even bothered to read through.

He sighed heavily and rubbed his hands over his face; this was going to be a long week. He looked at his watch. 10:30.

 _Perfect time for a mini showdown with Foster_ , he thought. This was the last of these cases. This was the last of their so-called charity work. He picked up the folders and rose from his chair.

The hallways of the Lightman Group echoed eerily back at him as Cal walked toward Gillian's office. He wondered if all his employees had taken it upon themselves to declare the day a _Snow Day_.

He peeked in through the large glass door to Gillian's office and opened it to quickly scan the room. There was still no sign of her.

He turned as two familiar voices echoed toward him, mumbling with irritation.

Eli Loker and Ria Torres sauntered slowly toward him, dressed in heavy parkas and scarves.

"Should've known," Eli began, shoulders falling, dejected. "That you'd make us work on a day like today."

"A day like what?" Cal asked unimpressed with Eli's attitude. "Too sunny for ye, Loker?" Cal looked from Eli to Ria who raised her eyebrows offering no argument.

Eli sighed and raised his arms slightly in frustration. "They're calling for snow. Lots of it. If you'd bother to turn on your radio—"

Cal pushed the folders he was carrying into Eli's midsection and raised an arm to point to the large window at the end of the hall. "Well it's not snowing now, is it then?" He stepped back looked them over in a father-like pose. "All right then. Hop to it." He shooed them with a hand.

Ria looked at Cal and without a word tugged slightly on Eli's coat.

Eli looked down at the folders in his hands. He glanced over the contents and held the folders toward Cal. "I'm already working on a case. A big one."

Cal took a step toward him threateningly. "What?" he asked, searching Eli's face. "The monkey thing."

Eli threw his head back and groaned. "It's a gorilla thing; the western lowland gorilla to be exact. His name is Kojo and he's really quite fascinating. Did you know-"

Ria reached forward suddenly and grabbed the folders from Eli's hands. "Thanks boss," she said happily, masking her true feelings, "We'll get right on this."

Ria dragged Eli down the hall by the hand and Cal smiled as he watched them round a corner, disappearing from sight. Smile still on his face, Cal returned to his office and settled into his desk chair. If it was going to be a long day, a long week, at least he could do it with ease. He opened his laptop and began to sift through his emails.

Nothing new; nothing from Foster.

A sinking feeling was beginning in his stomach but he pushed it down and continued to skim through his email.

Anna entered, knocking lightly on the door. "Dr. Lightman?" she asked hesitantly. She stood with her hands folded in front of her.

Without looking up from his laptop, Cal replied, "Yes?"

"I have a Dr. Stevenson from the Smithsonian Institute requesting a video conference call with you. He says he has a proposition for you."

Cal looked up slowly. "Smithsonian. That's government funded."

"Yes, it is."

Cal released a slow breath and shook his head slightly. "All right then. Set it up; patch him through. I'll take it in here."

Anna nodded and left his office.

Cal sipped the remainder of his tea, grimacing as the cold liquid touched his lips. "Blech!" he uttered and tossed the remainder, cup and all, into the waste basket beside his desk.

His screen blinked and the video conferencing program began to load. A still picture of the Smithsonian Institute beamed back at him; a reddy brown, bricked building with turrets. Atop flew an American flag. Bright, green grass grew on the lawn around it; trees were alive with newly opened blossoms, and Cal smiled to himself at the thought of springtime, without the impending hindrance of the coming snowfall.

Cal waited for his party to join and stared longingly at the picture provided.

Suddenly, the picture disappeared from his screen and was replaced instead by that of a cement bricked room in the colour of muted grey. The lighting was dim; from what Cal could tell was a single open-faced light bulb. Cal's brow immediately furrowed.

Shadows moved across his screen and Cal realised that the picture was not a still, but a video feed instead. The lower half of a dark figure passed in front of the camera, bringing with him a wooden chair. Dressed all in black, with black gloved hands, the figure sat slowly and presented themselves to Cal. The face of the figure was hidden under the mask of none other than former President of the United States, Richard M. Nixon.

Cal smiled to himself and looked up into the web camera glowing back at him. "Hello?" Cal said strongly, leaning forward to speak into the computer's microphone. "You've reached Cal Lightman. How can I help you?"

The figure remained motionless; hands neatly placed on his knees, back straight. The surroundings were eerie enough without the rubber face of one of the most infamous Presidents in the history of the United States looking back at him. Cal leaned forward and searched the face of Nixon. No eyes could be seen through the dark open holes in the Nixon mask.

"Hello?" Cal offered again. Again nothing was returned to him.

Cal turned the volume on his computer to its max and leaned forward, placing his ear close to the speaker. No buzzing, no humming, just the empty noise of his own speakers.

Cal pushed himself away from his desk and bound toward the door. He pointed toward Anna at reception.

"Is everything all right, Dr. Lightman?" Anna asked.

"Peachy keen." Cal took a few quickened steps down the hall, before he turned on his heel and returned to her, breath quickening. "Anything from Foster?"

Anna picked up the phone and placed it to her ear. "Nothing as of yet. She's not answering her cell."

Cal nodded. "As you soon as you get a hold of her, you tell me, yeah?"

Anna nodded and began dialing Gillian's familiar number.

Cal turned and headed back toward their video sequencing room. "You're gonna love this one, Gill." He murmured to himself. Cal smiled as he reached the room's doors. The day was beginning to show him a little excitement.

"Loker," he barked entering the room, pointing toward the screen where Loker was splicing video of Kojo, the Smithsonian zoo's western lowland gorilla.

Eli turned quickly to greet Cal, unable to hide the evidence of his work before Cal had walked through the door. "I can explain," Eli stammered, grinning nervously at his boss.

Cal waved his hand at Eli. "Never mind," he barked again. "We'll deal with that later." Cal stood in front of the screen and shoved his hands in his pockets. Ria rose from her desk to stand by Cal's side.

"What is it?" she asked.

Cal pointed at Eli. "Pull the feed in from my office computer. Throw it up."

Eli played with the controls in front of him, flicked buttons, and tapped a few keys on his keyboard. The screen in front of them blinked. Kojo, the lowland gorilla disappeared making way for a dark figure in a Nixon mask.

"Whoa!" Ria gasped and squinted up at the screen, immediately attempting to read the eyes of the masked figure. "You can't make out the eyes."

"I know," Cal offered.

Eli played with a few more controls and leaned forward to the monitor in front of him. "There's so sound track to this video feed."

"I know that, too," Cal said looking from Eli to Ria. "Come on kids. Catch up."

They turned their attention back to the screen, back to Nixon who still sat calmly, his back straight, hands resting on his knees.

"Do you want me to patch you through?" Eli asked.

Cal shook his head. "I'm not entirely sure he can hear me."

"Or she," Ria offered.

Cal ignored her.

Suddenly, Nixon leaned forward and rose from his chair. He disappeared off screen. A heavy movement of shadows appeared on the cement wall and two new figures appeared on screen shortly thereafter. A dark hooded figure in a thin, rubber Barbara Bush mask, led a womanly figure in a muted grey suit to the wooden chair on screen. The struggle ensued and an arm flew hitting the single light bulb above them. The light swung from its cord adding an eerie effect to their video feed.

Cal's gut tightened again as the grey suited figure came into view; a black hood covering their face. Cal searched the body, heart sinking. He recognized the suit, the body shape, and as he panned over the scene in front of him, his eyes settled on the hostage's hands bound together at their lap; hands recognisable to him.

Cal broke into an instant sweat.

Ria read his face, looked up the screen searching for a clue as to what Cal had seen.

The figure in the Barbara Bush mask reached forward and placed a white placard on the hostage's lap. In thick, black lettering the Lightman group read: **NO COPS. NO FBI. 12 HOURS.**

The group had an instant to read the sign before the black hood was removed, revealing the frightened face of Gillian Foster.

An instant later, the feed was cut and the Lightman group were left staring at a blank screen.


	3. The Van

Consciousness coursed through the body of Gillian Foster as her heart beat faster; her timing between breaths quickened.

The sound of an old engine rumbled under her, shook her body.

 _She was on the floor of the black van_ , she reasoned with herself; _she was on the move_.

She squeezed her eyes as the pain in her temple, the back of her head, her lower back, began to surface, making her completely aware of every muscle in her body. She squinted in the darkness, opened her eyes more fully and found yet more darkness.

She inhaled quickly and found a dark cloth covering her face. Shock took hold of her senses and she squirmed to find herself bound at the hands, knees, and feet. Heat flooded her body as the adrenaline began to wind its way to every inch of her. She struggled against her bonds, rolled her wrists inside what she was now determining to be thick plastic tie wraps. Rope held her knees tightly together.

She wiggled her feet and grimaced in her darkness as the pins and needles spread to her toes. Her boots removed, her feet were held together by the same thick plastic tie wraps that bound her feet.

The van rounded a corner and gradually picked up speed. She felt the van rock as they shifted to the side. Gillian strained to understand. _The highway?_ She listened to the sound as cars whooshed past. They had just changed lanes, were on the way to their destination and they were going fast.

She squeezed her eyes shut again, felt the pressure it brought to the pain in her head. She opened her eyes and strained again to see through the dark cloth over her head. She brought her hands up quickly, attempted to find the base of the hood. She rolled her neck and with strong fingers attempted to pull herself from the darkness. The hood fought against her, tugged at the back of her neck, pulled at the base of her hairline. The hood remained in place held tightly, tethered at the back of her head where she could not reach it.

Suddenly, she heard movement beside her and she froze, bringing her bound hands to her chest. She inhaled quickly and waited.

Again, she heard movement beside her and a presence as she felt the air around her move. A musky scent filled her senses, immediately awakening her defenses.

She would not be made a victim.

The musky scent drew nearer and she felt the figure draw over her. "Try not to struggle," a low voice told her. "Trust me; you're tied tightly."

She inhaled quickly, felt the fabric of the hood gravitate toward her nostrils as she sucked for air. Sweat coursed her body.

The figure above her sighed slightly and placed a gentle hand on her arm. She struggled away from him and her voice shook a warning at the back of her throat. He released her suddenly.

"Shh," he whispered. "They'll hear you." His voice was caring, soft and smooth, and Gillian could tell in the little that he spoke, that he was young and meant what he said.

She was caught in a predicament with no way of knowing the next turn. The van was traveling at top speed, heading toward a place she did not know. She had to trust the young man above her; a blind trust she had to force herself to accept, to surrender to.

He replaced a gentle hand on her arm again and leaned down to whisper beside her ear. "I won't let them hurt you. I promise."

* * *

Gillian listened intently as the van slowed its pace, turning slightly. It had been several miles since she had heard the rushing of cars, the honking, any sign of another life form outside the walls of the van.

The vehicle turned from the highway and traveled at a quick pace down another road. She was tossed slightly with each bump, with each pothole, as the suspension on the back of the van played cruelly with their positioning. As each bump was hit, the hand around her arm tightened softly to keep her from being thrown at the mercy of the road.

The van turned again down another pothole infested road and Gillian moved slightly, groaned against the pain in her lower back.

"We're almost there," the voice above her offered matter-of-factly.

Gradually their speed slowed, gradually the suspension eased, and the van pulled onto a graveled road. The van creeped forward, turned left and right, down one road onto another. She heard a scraping across the roof of the van, across the sides which she could tell was from the van passing through low hanging branches and brush.

_Trees. A forest._

_Seclusion._

_Brilliant._

* * *

They came to a halt and the hand that held her gently released her arm as the figure moved away. The back doors of the van creaked open and she felt the rush of fresh, crisp, clean air enter the vehicle.

The suspension on the back of the van gave way as a figure entered the back and bound toward her. She bounced slightly, her stomach tightening as she gripped her arms and hands tightly to her chest.

The figure's heavy sweat filled her senses and she chocked back, nose wrinkling at the unpleasant smell. The figure knelt beside her quickly and reached to grasp her hands.

"No!" she choked, struggling against the large hand that held her wrists. "Please no."

The grip tightened around her and rough hands felt her side, trailed her legs, her ankles. She squirmed and struggled under the contact.

Quickly a free hand wrapped around her neck and pushed her head violently against the floor of the van. The musky sweat smell moved closer to her.

"Hold still." The voice commanded aggressively, the order in it clear to her; _lie still or what's coming to you will be worse_.

Her breathing became erratic as the hands trailed her sides again; this time slower, different. They gripped her hips; fingers trailed beneath the waistband of her pants. He forced his hands under her arms and cupped her breasts.

She gasped. She fought for air, felt a warm tear trail her cheek for the first time.

"I already checked her," came the familiar voice to Gillian; his voice full of worry. "She's clean."

Gillian heard the figure above her scoff as he trailed his hands slowly down her body again. "Patience," he rasped toward the worried voice. He returned to Gillian and leaned closer to her. "God you are a fine piece of ass, aren't you?"

In an instant Gillian braced herself and threw her head forward making contact with her intended. Instant pain throbbed in her brow as she fell back to the floor.

"Bitch!" he screamed and threw a fist making contact with her cheek.

She exhaled and waited as the fresh pain surfaced. Her head bounced against the floor of the van again. She had little time to regain composure before strong hands lifted her from the floor and pushed her against a nearby wall. She gasped again as she made contact, struggled under her weight, under her uncomfortable bonds. The numbness in her feet quickly turned to pain as blood flowed to them.

The figure pushed himself against her and she smelled his stale breath, the sweat which coursed through his body. "First things first," he breathed against her. "You behave; we behave. Whatever force you exert, we'll exert 10 times that on you. Understand?"

He waited for a second before pushing himself against her again, brought a strong arm up to hold her tightly to the wall. "Understand?" he asked again.

She nodded under the hood quickly.

"Good." He inhaled again, rubbed his groin against her leg. "Second thing. Good behaviour will result in a much more pleasant stay for you. Got it?"

She nodded again.

"Wonderful," he sighed, pressed his head to hers to rest outside her ear. "Be a good girl and I won't have to send my pit-bull on you." She heard a rough voice behind him laugh, heard the sinister smile in the voice at her ear. "And trust me; he likes leggy, blue eyed beauties." He turned behind him to laugh with his friend. "Ain't that right, Pitty?"

"That's right," came the rough voice again.

He turned back to her, released the arm at her throat. "But back to the good behaviour thing," he rasped. "Your little adventure a minute ago is strike one, Doctor Foster."

She froze as he released her and attempted to balance against the wall of the van.

_Her name; he knew it. This was not some random event._

She gasped as the realisation began to ring clear; these were professionals. They had perhaps done this before.

"Cut the good doctor's bonds at her knees and feet. Leave the hood and her hands tied." The instructions came aggressively. "I was going to carry her, but this bruise on my cheek means she'll have to walk the rest of the way."

"Ah, come on," came the familiar soothing voice. "She didn't know the rules before."

"And now she does. She's walking. That's final."

The bonds at her knees and feet were cut instantly and she was shoved in her socked feet toward the open cold air. She was grabbed by her arm and lifted awkwardly down from the van. She gasped as her feet made contact with gravel and snow.

"Let me carry her, will you?" the soothing voice stammered. "She doesn't have any boots."

"Then this is the perfect lesson for her. A lesson in obedience isn't that right, Gillian?"

Gillian nodded obediently.

She heard the crunching of snow ahead of her as a figure went on ahead. She was pushed forward and stepped hesitantly as sharp gravel pierced into the soles of her feet. She took another step and stumbled, falling heavily at the mercy of gravity. Her back made contact with what she could tell was the raised root of a tree.

She groaned and turned, braced her hands against the cold ground. Snow wet her pants, chilled her skin instantly.

Hands pulled her from the ground and pushed her forward again. She stumbled again but braced herself, regaining her balance.

"I've got this," came the soothing voice again and a gentle arm wrapped around her back, supported her as they walked on. Together they made their way through the snow with the other figure walking closely behind them.

They stopped short at the edge of an obstacle and Gillian stood still, waited until strong hands grabbed her under each arm and lifted her as they climbed hollow stairs.

She exhaled quickly and was relieved as her feet made contact with smooth flooring.

She was pushed through a doorway across flooring, where their footsteps echoed against empty walls, and was led to another obstacle where she was made to wait. She was turned aggressively and lifted over the shoulder of someone and they climbed down wooden stairs one at a time.

She was placed on her feet, struggled against the figure holding her tightly and was turned to sit in a chair.

Quickly the hood was cut and released from her head and she squinted into the bright light as it pierced her eyes.

She fought to take in her surroundings, to make sense of the situation, and for the first time since her abduction she opened her mouth to scream.


	4. Broken

"Pull it back up. Get the feed back!" Cal screamed to Eli.

"It's gone," Eli choked fumbling with the controls in front of him.

"What do you mean it's gone?"

"I mean it's gone!"

"I think I'm going to be sick," Ria divulged.

Cal and Eli turned to look at her. They breathed heavily, heart beats rapid. A steady humming echoed in the machines around them.

Cal took a step toward Ria until she lifted her eyes to meet him. "No, Torres, you're not going to be sick. You're going to suck it up and deal with it." His voice began to rise and he pointed toward the blank screen. "You're not the one under that bloody hood, now are you?"

She looked up at him slowly, choked back the tears that welled in her eyes. "Okay. I'm sorry."

Cal pursed his lips, face vacant of expression. He turned back to Eli. "All right, all right." Cal ran his hands through his hair and shoved them deep within his pockets. His shoulders pointed forward. "Play the video back. Rewind it."

They watched as the scene replayed in front of them; the struggle, the swinging light bulb, the fear in Gillian Foster's face as the black hood was removed from her head. She squinted into the light, opened her mouth to say something before the video feed was cut sending The Lightman Group into darkness.

Cal's heart sank again. The anger coursed through his veins, the sadness and fright crept over his brow and he released it quickly before his team could see.

He too felt the sickness rising in his stomach, the tightness in his gut which threatened for release. He closed his eyes for a moment, willed the sinking feeling to subside.

 _For her_ , he thought. _Suck it up, for her_.

He opened his eyes and scanned the feed as it replayed, feeling the eyes of Eli and Ria boring through the back of his head. He cocked his head and pointed to the screen.

"Zoom in. On Foster's face." Cal ordered, giving his instructions over his shoulder. "There." He said as the video zoomed in to show Gillian's face large on the screen in front of them. He removed his hands from his pockets, opened them, palms out to frame her face. "Yeah. There. What's she saying?"

"She's saying something?" Eli asked dumbfounded. He squinted at the screen.

Cal shook his head and rolled his eyes. "Yes, Loker. Look!"

Eli tilted his head to the side and set the video to loop. "Looks like she's screaming something."

Cal squinted at the screen. "Damn. Could never read lips," he revealed honestly.

Ria sprang from her chair and bound toward the exit. "I know someone who does," she declared.

Cal and Eli continued to stare at the screen. Over and over Gillian mouthed something; over and over Cal and Eli tried to decipher it.

Ria entered the room and was followed quickly by Sarah Lang, grad student, and resident expert at reading lips.

Sarah froze in the middle of the room as she looked up at the screen. Eyes wide with shock, she pointed at the image presented to her. "Is that Dr. Foster?"

Cal sighed. "Johnny, tell 'er what she's won."

Ria ignored him and turned to Sarah. "It is Foster. We need you to tell us the words she's saying."

Sarah nodded obediently and moved to stand by Eli at the controls. "Play the video. Loop it for me," she commanded. Her eyes traveled over Gillian's face, over her lips as she watched the words form. Recognition rang true and she watched as the video replayed itself, looping effectively, giving her time to be certain.

Gillian Foster was not mouthing words.

Sarah looked up to greet Cal's impatience. He stared at her and opened his arms in frustration.

"Well?" he asked flustered. "Out with it. What's she saying?"

"Not words," Sarah divulged.

"What then?" Cal asked quickly.

"A name," Sarah said, sadness taking over her features. "Foster's screaming _'Cal'_."

* * *

Cal took a step backward and sat. He placed his head in his hands, elbows resting on his knees. He closed his eyes and released a slow breath.

 _Think, Cal, think_ , he told himself.

He was usually better at this; at determining the next crucial step.

But not now. Not when it came to her.

_No cops. No FBI. 12 Hours._

_But 12 hours to what?_

He looked up slowly, found the frightened wide eyes of Eli and Ria staring back at him. Their brows pushed together, they awaited his next instruction. He slapped his knees and stood.

"Right then," he choked. "The sign."

"No cops. No FBI. 12 hours." Ria repeated from memory.

Loker nervously chewed on the end of his pen. "But 12 hours to what?" He looked up at Cal hesitantly.

Cal stared blankly at the screen. "I don't know, son."

Eli's eyes grew wide and the pen fell from his mouth. He looked toward Ria who returned his surprise shock. She shrugged her shoulders.

Ria cleared her throat. "They gave us nothing, Lightman." She offered. "They must be contacting us again in 12 hours." She looked back to Eli who shrugged his shoulders in return.

"Must be."

A ruckus was beginning in the hall outside the glass armoured door of the video sequencing room and Eli, Ria and Cal turned slowly to find that a crowd had developed. Wide eyed, worried faces peered into the room interested in getting a view of the large video screen which held a still frame of a very frightened Gillian Foster.

Cal cocked his head and stepped forward and a few of the onlookers stepped back and walked away casually. Cal held up a hand and signalled for the onlookers to come in and join them. Carefully, one by one, employees of The Lightman Group began to file into room.

Cal shoved his hands in his pockets forcefully and released a heavy sigh.

"Whoever's not in this room in the next 15 seconds is fired," he bellowed.

The pace quickened and the room filled to its max well within the time allotted to them. The attendees murmured to one another as they aligned against the walls of the room, filing around desks and video equipment to huddle with one another. Finally, as the last employee entered, a hush fell over Cal Lightman's audience.

"Right then." Cal cleared his throat. "Rumours are true. We have a situation on our hands that involves Dr. Foster." He waited for the murmuring to subside before continuing. "We have been handed a video message which Loker will play for us now."

He stepped aside as Eli began the video feed. He watched the eyes of his employees; the horror and shock, the sadness and regret, traced across their features and tugged at his middle. He fought to swallow the lump in his throat as the image of Gillian's face played for them.

Eli froze the video on the screen.

"Right." Cal pointed at the screen. "No cops. No FBI. 12 hours. We've got nothing else. I can understand if you want to walk away from this, but let it be known, I could really use your help on this one. I think Foster deserves it, yeah?" He watched as heads nodded, as a few took notes. "Call your families, then. Tell 'em it's gonna be a late one and nothing more, yeah? No cops. No FBI. Let's not muck about, eh?" Cal looked from the group and back to Ria and Eli's worried faces. "Lightman powwow. 20 minutes. The Cube."

Cal turned quickly on his heel and pushed through the crowd to the exit.

* * *

_12 hours._

_12 hours to do what?_

Cal looked at his watch. It had been nearly an hour since they had received the video feed. His uselessness was beginning to sit heavy within his shoulders. He felt the tension invading his senses. His neck was stiff.

_Oh, love._

He kicked his waste basket in frustration and it made a loud bang as it made contact with the nearby wall. Its contents sprang from it; papers and a used venti Chai cup. He watched as the liquid pooled from the basket, watched as it ran its course stretching out, searching his floor for cracks and crevices to dive into.

He sat at his desk, looked to his laptop's screen where the video feed had ended. A blank square stared back at him.

_11 bloody hours._

He racked his brain for the next move, for the speech he was going to give his troop, but nothing came to him. He lowered his head to his desk, dejected, and closed his eyes.

* * *

The heavy sound of boots walking his hallway brought Cal to his senses and he looked up to watch a flurry of black suits pass by his door.

He sprang to his door and skidded across the floor of the hallway. Men in untailored, boring suits walked his hallway, gathered together with their bags of electronics. They muttered to one another and it took Cal only a moment to recognise who they were. These suits and gaudy ties could only belong to one task force; the FBI.

"Oi!" Cal hollered to them and they looked up as a unit offering nothing in return. "What's the meaning of this charade?"

From the group came a tall, grey haired man, Cal was all too familiar with; Assistant Special _Agent_ in Charge Bernard Dillon.

"'Ello, _Bernard_ ," Cal greeted distastefully.

"Lightman," Agent Dillon returned. "We got the call from your office. Turns out you're in quite the pickle."

Cal sauntered toward him, cocked his head as he stared up at Agent Dillon. "Don't remember calling any G-MEN, thank you very much."

Anna sprang around the corner. "You didn't," she gasped. "I did." Anna watched as the anger flooded Cal's face. "Don't be mad," she said through clenched teeth. "I thought you could use a friend."

Cal pointed to Bernard. "Friend?" He sighed heavily. "You're a pretty face, Anna, but I think you've got your wires crossed."

"Not _that_ friend, _this_ friend." Anna turned to point down the hall to reception.

Cal poked his head around the corner. "As I live 'n breathe," he said smiling. Standing before him was indeed a good friend, the very good friend of Agent Ben Reynolds.

The men greeted in a tight hug, each taking the time to offer a friendly pat to the back.

Cal pulled away from Ben and gripped him by the shoulders. "You finally cut the chains you had to that desk of yours, did ye?"

Ben smiled warmly and shook his head. "I'm still there. Thought maybe I could come down and give you some help. It looks like you need it."

Cal returned the smile Ben offered. "More than you know."

"Hey," Ben offered, looking down at him, face reading warm compassion. "Are you all right?"

Cal smiled, lips pressed tightly together. "You're the first to ask me."

Ben nodded and patted Cal's shoulder. He raised his eyebrows. "Let's go get your girl back."


	5. Kennedy

"CAL!" Gillian screamed in time before the large fist crashed down on her and made contact with her jaw. She gasped as blood started to pool quickly in her mouth. She rolled her jaw, grimaced as the pain surfaced unrelenting.

She turned slowly, squinted up at the rubberized face of Barbara Bush.

"Hey!" came the familiar voice to Gillian. He bound toward her and she looked up, hope gleaming in her eyes. She was met with the face of John F. Kennedy, Jr.

"Come on!" he gasped pointing to someone to her right. "I didn't sign up for this!"

She turned slowly, watched as the mask of Richard M. Nixon came into her foggy sight. Gillian felt the ugliness of hatred writhe through her gut at the sight of the mask. She could tell instantly who was running this show.

He walked toward Kennedy and placed a hand to the side of the mask, lovingly as one would do a small child. "I know. We didn't sign up for any of this, did we?"

Kennedy released himself from the grasp and turned away, ashamed to look in Gillian's direction. She breathed heavily and looked from one mask to the next.

Nixon walked toward them to stand in front of her. "Listen. Let's not beat up the merchandise, shall we? We need her looking her best for her video debut." He reached down to lift Gillian's face at the base of her chin. He turned her face in his hands. "That's gonna leave a mark, now isn't it?" He turned to face Barbara Bush, kept Gillian's chin in his hand. "Once this is over, you can have your way with her."

The anger coursed through her. Fear and anxiety bubbled to the top and as Nixon turned to look at her she pooled the blood in her mouth and spat forcefully. She coughed, spat on the floor again at his shoes.

Nixon's hands grew tense in front of her and she watch as his fist formed tight; she braced herself again.

He reached forward grabbing her by her bound hands. He turned to his friend. "If you're gonna hit her," he bawled his fist and threw it into her side. "At least do it where the camera won't see."

She gasped, was hurled backward and waited for the second fist to hit her. He squared away and made contact with her stomach, sending her crumpling to the floor in a heap. She gasped again as the bile rose from her stomach instantly and her mouth filled. She spat and heaved, released the contents to the floor.

"That's strike two, Gillian," Nixon said over her, his voice grumbling under the rubber mask. He pushed her lightly with his foot and squatted beside her. "Next strike and I won't hold my pit-bull back, do you understand?"

Gillian spat again, released the next wave from her stomach. When she did not answer him, he reached forward, took her face in his hands and waited for her dark eyes to meet his. The fear, the anger, the hatred; she let him see all of it.

"Do you understand?"

" _Yes_ ," she croaked.

He took his hand from her, looked down at his glove and shook her spit from it.

"Good," he said standing. He turned quickly, was met with two hands which pressed lightly to his chest. Kennedy had sidled up to them and was looking up at Nixon. He stood between Nixon and his exit.

Kennedy's voice was low, almost inaudible. "You said we weren't going to hurt her." His voice cracked.

Nixon looked down at Kennedy's and brought his hands to cup his rubber face. "That's up to her now isn't it?" He playfully patted the side of Kennedy's face and turned past him to leave. Bush followed quickly behind, chuckling as his went.

Kennedy knelt quickly at Gillian's side and placed a gloved hand to her face. She shied away from him; a rumbling noise emitted from the back of her throat.

"I'm sorry, Gillian," Kennedy said, his voice cracking slightly. "I said I wouldn't let them hurt you. I didn't know."

Gillian lay quietly while Kennedy placed another hand to her shoulder. She coughed again. Blood trailed from the corner of her mouth.

Kennedy reached up instantly and pulled a sheet of paper towel from a roll to his right. He balled it and brought it to her face, wiped the blood and bile that trailed her cheek.

She shook slightly from the chill of the room, the chill of the floor; her feet which were soaked and frozen. She looked up at him with tears in her eyes, the fear and anxiety gone from earlier; all that was left was her sadness.

He breathed heavily under his mask and rubbed her shoulder lightly. "I'm so sorry," he choked again and Gillian heard the change in pitch of his voice, imagined the tears that welled in his eyes, which fell unrelenting down his cheek.

"We should get you up," he said trailing a gloved hand down her arm.

She nodded and attempted to lift herself slowly. She struggled and he helped her, caught her when she fell back slightly, pulled backward by the rush to her head. "Up you go," he said reassuringly and held her close to him. She inhaled quickly and he waited for her to regain her sight. She pressed her body tightly against him, took the fabric of his jacket between her fingers. She was so close to him, she could feel the pleasant smile that spread on his face. "I've got you," he whispered gently, wrapping his arm tighter around her body.

She looked up at him slowly, could see through the eye holes in the mask. His eyes shone back at her and in an instant she felt warm, safe; if only for an instant. They were caring, trusting eyes, which blinked slowly, as his arms held her close.

"Let's get you warm."

* * *

He led her from the room and they slowly made their way down a skinny, short hall which Gillian could make out was likely the basement of a small cottage. They turned into a doorway where they were met by the man in the Barbara Bush mask who immediately stood as they entered. He took two steps toward them and reached for Gillian's hands. She was pulled forcefully from Kennedy's arms.

"I got this," Kennedy said reaching forward to grab Gillian's arm.

Bush rolled his arm around Gillian, grasped her tightly to his chest. He leaned forward, looked down at Kennedy. "Really? I don't think you do short stuff. I think you've gone soft." He pushed himself against Gillian and she felt him growing hard against her backside. He tilted her head back and she heard him inhale slowly getting her scent. "Not a problem I have, now is it, Gillian?"

Kennedy reached forward and successfully pulled Gillian into his arms. "I told you, I've got this." He danced with Gillian for a second, regained her positioning in his arms, and pressed his face to her neck. "Mmm." He cooed, voice changing, rumbling against her skin. "She does smell delicious, doesn't she?"

Gillian froze in his arms, back straightening. She pulled against him, against the gloved hands that drew her hair from her face.

Bush chuckled sinisterly and stepped forward. Kennedy put himself between Gillian and her intended.

"Not so fast," Kennedy drawled on. "I think I deserve this, don't you?"

"Indeed you have," Bush cooed and shuffled toward them. He placed a gloved hand against Gillian's cheek, pulled it quickly from her as she lashed forward.

Kennedy shuffled Gillian in his arms again. "I've got this," he insisted, voice deepening eerily.

Bush placed his hands by his side. "You sure you don't want me to hold her? She looks like a biter."

Kennedy laughed slightly. "Trust me. I've got her."

"Just be sure to muffle her screams, will you? I need some sleep."

"Will do."

Bush nodded his head and sidled toward the door. "You two kids have fun."

He left them, closed and locked the door behind him, leaving Gillian in the harsh light of the room, gripped tightly by strong arms.

* * *

He moved her toward the bed and she struggled against him. A frightened moan escaped her lips.

"Gillian," he whispered against her.

She kicked his shin and threw her head back, successfully making contact with his chin. He released her in an instant and she fell forward on the bed.

"It's all right," he forced out, throwing a hand in front of him, the other to his chin where he massaged his face through the mask.

She pushed herself up by her bound hands and turned ready to strike again.

He waited a moment, let her regain her breath. "It's all right," he repeated and waved his hand at her. He shook his head lightly and moved to a table in the corner of the room.

Gillian looked around her. No windows, no grates; no exit but for the barred door. She was sitting on a musty cot with a thin pillow and even thinner blanket folded at one end of it.

The room housed an old, ratty furnace and water heater that pumped behind her to her left. There was an old armchair in the corner with another thin blanket draped over one arm. The room was warmer than her previous surroundings and she shivered slightly at the change in temperature.

She looked up as Kennedy approached her, water bottle in hand. She licked her chapped lips at the sight of the liquid, realising how stale her mouth was, how incredibly thirsty she had become.

He held his arms out to her as a sign of apology and opened the bottle. He brought the water forward and placed the bottle to her lips. She suckled forcefully and choked as the liquid failed to trail her throat. He pulled the bottle from her lips, let her breathe in.

"Slowly," he cooed replacing the bottle to her lips. He tilted it slowly this time, let her sip carefully.

She closed her eyes as she drank. It wasn't cold, but it was wet and felt good; her first bit of comfort since Kennedy's hands had held her on their ride in the van.

She opened her eyes slowly, watched the rubber face as he knelt in front of her. She listened to his short breaths under the mask. She lifted her lips from the bottle, swallowed the remainder of the liquid in her mouth. He recapped the bottle and placed it at her feet.

His knuckles brushed against her wet socks and he sprang to his feet, bounding toward the opposite end of the room. He returned with the blanket from the armchair and fell to her feet. He looked up at her slowly as his hands reached forward. He paused, shook his hands, and removed the gloves from his fingers.

He reached up her pant leg; warm fingertips met her skin. She welcomed the sensation and closed her eyes involuntarily.

His fingertips dipped inside the wet sock on her right foot and he removed the fabric slowly from her skin; red and raw from her journey. He did the same to her left, taking his time. He placed the thin blanket under her and wrapped it around her feet carefully. He looked up at her, at the compassion she was showing, and rubbed his hands together quickly. He wound his hands through the blanket and made contact with her.

She inhaled quickly but relaxed instantly as his warm hands gently wrapped around her feet. Slowly, her breath returned to normal and she blinked away a tear.

He watched as it fell down her face.

"I am sorry," he said softly. "I didn't mean to frighten you but I had to get the big guy to leave."

She pressed her lips tightly together and nodded timidly. "It's okay. I see what you were doing."

"He never said anything about hurting you."

She closed her eyes and fought against the pain in her head, her side, her lower back. Slowly, he removed his hands from her feet and lifted himself from the floor. She opened her eyes as his hands held her shoulders and he pushed her back gently.

"You should lie down," he said softly and reached to his side to place a pillow under her head. She obliged and let him lift her blanketed feet onto the bed. She curled into a foetal position as he draped the second thin blanket over her.

With her new positioning, the pain resurfaced in her side, and she coughed and groaned, gripping her arms to her body. "What's your name?" she managed to ask him.

He chuckled slightly and looked down at her. "Nice try."

She looked to him confused, squinted, and tilted her head to hide from the harsh light. "What?"

He sat beside her on the cot, reached up to pull a strand of hair from her face. "We know you're the shrink, Gillian, the expert on voice analysis," he laughed quietly. "You think I'm going to give you my name?"

She grinned uncomfortably, baring white teeth. She groaned again as she shifted her weight to face him. "Look, I've got to call you something, don't I?"

"You don't, actually." He looked to the door, shook his leg nervously. "I don't even think I should be talking to you."

"Then why are you?"

He turned back to her and leaned a bit close; his voice bounced against the fabric of the mask. "Why don't you tell me?"

She searched through the gaping holes in the eyes of the mask and was surprised to find two caring, yet scared, dark brown eyes staring back at her. Something in her face must have changed because he pulled from her, and turned to look away.

"Look," he offered strongly, ashamed he had let her see him. "I just wanted to make sure you're all right." He turned quickly toward her, frightening her slightly. "We can't have you dying on us or bleeding out internally. You're the asset in all of this, you know?"

Gone was his quiet disposition and Gillian's brow furrowed as the persona of earlier returned.

He reached beneath her blanket to pull at the hem of her shirt but she pushed him off with bound hands. "Don't touch me," she ordered and pointed a finger at him. "Don't even try."

He was taken aback by the firmness in her tone. He let his shoulder soften, his head to lean forward. His voice returned, soft and caring, tugging at something within her.

"I won't hurt you, Gillian," he said carefully. "Let me see where it hurts."

As much as Gillian tried to ignore it, she needed this young man in the John F. Kennedy, Jr. mask. It was a relationship she needed and her only chance at a safety net in her current ordeal. He was her expertly placed pawn in this game she found herself confronted with. She needed to play the next move; she needed to make the smart choices.

She nodded slightly, blinked slowly pulling at the base of her shirt.

He lifted himself from the cot and knelt at her bedside. "Roll onto your back," he instructed and she obliged; groaned as she moved.

Again his caring hands and careful touch were on her as he lifted the fabric of her shirt and exposed her abdomen to the air. He pressed his fingers into her flesh and she gasped as she experienced the new pain.

"Inhale," he asked her.

She brought air into her lungs and braced herself as his fingers pressed into her again. He released the pressure and placed a palm against her skin. She relaxed her breathing.

"I think you're okay," he said looking down to his hand as he held it to her flat stomach. He trailed his warm hand over side. "I'm no doctor though."

She smiled carefully. "You're doing just fine."

He sighed under the mask and pulled her shirt down over her abdomen. He reached forward to take the blanket in his hands.

"Can you take these off?" she asked him quietly, holding her hands in front of her. Her wrists were red and raw against her hard plastic bonds, from the struggle she had been through.

He held her wrists up to the holes in his mask. "I'm sorry, Gillian." He sighed. "I'm afraid that's one thing I can't do."

* * *

She woke suddenly to the sound of the heavy door slamming against the wall. Immediately, she sprang upright in the cot, defences ready, hands in front of her. She shook her head; forced the sleep away.

Kennedy bound across the floor to meet Bush as he entered the room. "You kids were sure quiet last night," he remarked sauntering up to Kennedy.

"As you suggested," Kennedy said, patting him on the arm.

Bush was quiet for a moment and he looked down to Gillian whose face was alive with fright. Slowly, he turned back to Kennedy. "Get her presentable," he cooed. "It's showtime!"


	6. The Deal

Cal Lightman entered his office and was followed quickly by Ben Reynolds who closed the door behind them. Cal paced to his desk, opened a drawer and pulled a bottle of scotch from within. He took out two glasses and held a glass to Ben.

"Care for a spot?" he asked voice shaking.

"Nah," Ben said. "I'm working." He watched as Cal poured the drink and he shook his head. "Never mind," he divulged. "Pour me one."

Cal poured the dark liquid in the second glass and held it up for Ben.

"To Gillian," Ben said, meeting Cal's eyes.

Cal swallowed slowly, nodded, and put the glass to his lips. "To you, love."

He drank quickly and poured himself another glass, offered a refill to Ben who took it hungrily. The men stood in silence, let the liquid warm their senses and flood their cheeks with heat.

Ben placed the glass carefully on Cal's desk, pushed his jacket back, and placed his hands on his hips. "So how are you doing?"

Cal recapped his bottle and returned it to his drawer. "I'm in pieces, mate. I feel bloody useless waiting."

Ben inhaled and released his breath slowly. "It's all we can do from what I'm told."

"You've seen the video?"

"I haven't."

Cal nodded. "Let's get to work then, eh?"

* * *

Cal looked up to Ben as Gillian's face passed over the screen. It changed from sadness to despair, and he looked to Cal with the same emotion Cal felt within him; regret.

Ben looked to his watch. "How long do we have?" he asked.

"Just under 11 hours."

"Where's Emily?"

"She's at her mums." Cal grimaced thinking of the possibilities; said a tiny prayer, released it as a sigh. "She's safe; staying with Zoe's sister and so on." He allowed himself a shallow smile. "Probably having the time of her life." He rolled his eyes and the men shared a collective chuckle.

His thoughts quickly fell back to Gillian, at the fear in her eyes, and Ben looked at him, read him instantly, if only for the first time since he had met Cal Lightman; expert at masking facial expressions.

"She's tough, Cal," he offered, lowering his voice.

Cal looked up at him, sadness relaxed his brow. "Yeah. Tough as nails, she is."

Ben smiled. "She has to be to put up with your crap for this long."

Cal chuckled again and allowed the emotion to flood his face. "Aie, aie." The lines fell from him instantly.

"You need to trust in that, Cal," Ben offered quietly. "She wants you to."

Cal looked up gloomily. He pressed his lips together and opened his mouth agape; rethought his words. "This place really does miss you, Ben."

"I miss it too."

* * *

Cal Lightman stood under the bright lights of The Cube, hands in his pocket. He waited as the last of his team entered, spread before him encircling the glowing box which acted as his platform.

He inhaled and looked at his watch.

"Eleven hours folks. Eleven hours until we know where to go from here." He sighed. "Might seem like a big time frame but it's not. Right? It's not. I need everybody together on this; collectively. Egos aside. We need to get Gillian home but we need to play this smart."

He paced the cube slowly; looked out onto the eager faces of his troop.

"Everybody remembers Ben here?" Ben stepped from the corner of The Cube and waved wiggling his fingers. "He's going to be splitting you up into teams and you're going to be given a set task." He nodded at Ben, looked up at him from under his brow. "We need to get dirty here folks. We need to get smart. We'll meet again in eleven." He nodded again. "All right? Let's get to work."

Ben walked ahead of him and climbed the stairs down from The Cube.

"Oi!" Cal hollered toward Eli and Ria and waved them over with two fingers. "I need a list from you two, right, of anybody, and I mean anybody, that I may or may not have pissed off. I need it all."

Eli ran his hands through his hair. "That's gonna take some time."

"Oi!" Cal growled. "Don't be a smart ass."

"Do you have any idea how many people-"

"We'll do it," Ria interjected.

"Names. Occupations. Dates. Family. I want to know their blood type. Right?"

"Right?" Ria nodded.

The door opened behind them and Cal turned to see Anna standing in the door, panic flooding her features.

"What is it, love?" Cal asked walking toward her with his head cocked.

"It's the cops." She gasped. "They've found Dr. Foster's car."

* * *

Cal trudged through the lower floor of the parking tower toward the bright lights of two police cruisers and one very large tow truck.

Ben at his side, he was surprised to reach the silver car and peer inside it, making eye contact with a familiar pair of eyes.

"Hello Detective," Cal sang, less than pleased.

Detective Sharon Wallowski pulled herself from the driver's seat and stood to look at Cal. "Hello to you too, Sunshine," she said walking around the side of the car to meet Cal face-to-face.

"You running every beat in this city, or do you just love to put that pretty nose of yours in my business?"

She was taken aback and her brow furrowed instantly. "I got the call about an abandoned vehicle; was surprised when they ran the plates and a certain Dr. Gillian Foster's name flashed on my computer." She held up her latexed hands, opened Gillian's registration for Cal. "You want to tell me what this is about?"

"No." Cal grunted as Ben came to his side having checked over the car.

"Looks clean, Cal."

"What looks clean," she asked him.

Ben remained silent.

She took a step toward Cal. "What's with the silent treatment?" she asked, looking up at Cal with dark brown eyes. Concern flashed across her face. "What's wrong?"

Cal shook his head, pursed his lips. "Nah. Was told no cops."

She scoffed and ran her eyes over Ben. "And what's he?" she asked the hurt rising to the back of her throat.

"A friend."

Cal ignored Wallowski's pout; the smile she attempted to cover it with. He opened the passenger's door and put his head inside. Wallowski dangled a set of gloves in front of his face from the driver's side and Cal reluctantly put them on.

He sat inside and looked in the back seat; lifted himself to get a better look in the back of the car. It was neat, tidy, organized and the seats smelled of leather cleaner. _So Gillian_ , he thought.

The floor of the car was clean as well, odd for this time of year with the gravel and sand they had placed on the roads for traction. He searched the glove box; owner's manual, a small map and bottle of ibuprofen. He closed it and sat back; lowered the visor, opened the mirror.

"So you're really not going to fill me in are you?" Sharon asked, hopeful of a different answer.

"Nope." He met her eyes. "This is no place for a used-to-be dirty cop."

She frowned and held his eyes, lifted a lever beside her left knee. A click was heard and they turned to look behind them through the rear window to the trunk.

They jumped from the car to meet Ben at the rear of the car. With his elbow, Ben lifted the trunk's lid.

They peered inside to an abandoned winter coat and purse, a set of jumper cables and a half-full bottle of washer fluid.

Cal reached into the trunk, pulled her coat and pressed it to his face. It smelled so strongly of her perfume that his eyes closed instantly and the blood flowed quicker in his veins.

He opened his eyes to the sound of a zipper and watched as Sharon riffled through Gillian's purse. "Her cell phone, her wallet, small clutch." She paused as she pulled out a small canister and held it to Cal, worry spreading across her face. She gave the canister to Cal and he turned it in his hands; his gift of a bottle of pepper spray.

"Is Foster okay, Cal?" she asked; her voice hoarse.

Cal rolled the canister with his fingers. "I bloody well hope so."

* * *

Cal entered the doors of The Lightman Group and joined the flurry of employees as they flooded the hallways noisily; hungrily searching. He marched among them determined and shook the snow from his coat. The skies had begun to open their fury onto the city, and it was hurling upon them in heaps.

 _Bloody useless weathermen_ , he thought angrily. _The one time they got it right_.

He entered the video sequencing room to see Ria and Eli huddled together, arguing, pointing at Eli's computer monitor. Papers flew around the room as people scurried in and out.

He approached his team, shook his shoulders from his coat and flung it onto Ria's workstation.

"Well," he said rubbing his hands together. "What do we have?"

Eli and Ria shuffled through their papers and thrust several files in Cal's direction. Cal took the folders and quickly emptied them, spilling its contents into his hands. He quickly read through the material; the list of divorcees, college students, government employees, retirees, and a pair of quasi-successful con-men.

"This is it?" he asked holding up the papers in disgust. "I've been gone for hours, and I mean hours, this, this is all you have for me." He tossed the papers back at Eli and they scattered on his desk.

"That _was_ it."

Cal sighed. "I need angrier. More violent. More... more of everything."

He turned on a dime, ignored the sighs, the gasps from behind him, and met Ben Reynolds at the secured door. Behind him stood a line of dark suited men with equipment bags in their hands.

"What's this now?" Cal asked pointing to the men behind Ben.

"Surveillance," Ben said matter-of-factly. "Where do you want them to set up?"

"They're not."

"Excuse me."

"You heard me." He sighed and pointed inside the room. "You saw the video, right? No cops. No FBI."

"Yeah," Ben said nodding. "And yet we're here. You called us."

Cal leaned toward Ben, placed a careful hand on his shoulder. "Look mate, I appreciate it, really I do, but if they so much as get a sniff of you, the slightest whiff, we jeopardise Foster's position in this. And I don't know what that is."

Ben looked at Cal with sullen eyes. "Lightman, I don't think that's wise. This equipment might be able to pinpoint the feed. There's the chance we could get her that much faster."

Cal removed his hand from Ben's shoulder and shoved it deep within his pocket. "I know mate but I can't risk it. Not yet. What if they're tracking us?" He rocked back and forth; looked toward the men behind Ben again and sighed. "I can't do it. I don't know what I'm dealing with here." He pursed his lips together. "Let me feel them out. Let me give 'er a go, eh?"

Ben sighed heavily and turned to shoo away his team of eager agents. He turned back to Cal and lowered his brow. "I hope you know what you're doing."

"Me too mate. Me too."

* * *

Cal placed the earbud in his ear and lifted his arms above his head as Ria placed his microphone battery pack behind him and hooked it into his pants. He adjusted his headset so the microphone sat next to his mouth.

"Speak into the mic, Dr. Lightman," Eli instructed.

"What like this?" Cal bellowed, an awkward smile coming to his face.

"Ah!" Eli screamed, pulled his earphones from his head, and adjusted several dials to his right. "Funny," he gasped and pushed heavily, rolled his chair across the floor to turn perfectly in front of his desk.

His fingers tapped hungrily on his keyboard and the large screen overhead blinked and focused. A dark, empty rectangle filled the space.

Cal checked his watch. Gave thumbs up to Agents Reynolds and Dillon who stood out of sight to his right in a shadowed corner.

Showtime.

* * *

And they waited and waited.

And anticipation grew heavy.

Ria rubbed her sweaty hands on her thighs.

Eli chewed on his pen cap.

Ben bit a fingernail. Dillon crossed his arms again and again.

Cal stood ready and poised. He stared at the screen in front of him.

* * *

The dark screen flickered and the image of the grey cemented brick sprang forth once more. A chair moved across the floor to the video's right, entered the shot, and a dark figure in a familiar Nixon mask sat down, and leaned forward resting his elbows on the table in front of him. The figure placed his hands together at his chin.

"Hello, Dr. Lightman," boomed the eerie voice. "I see you got my message."

"He's using a voice scrambler," Eli whispered quietly, and quickly set to work on the computer in front of him.

"Your message?" Cal asked. "The video from earlier wasn't live, was it?"

"No," his voice scratched, caused static in Cal's ear. "It wasn't. Had to be careful you know."

Cal sighed slightly, careful to not give away his impatience. "Where's Dr. Foster?"

The voice uttered a chilled laughter and it echoed in the room around Cal. "She's here, in a sense."

"Is she hurt?"

"She's uncomfortable. But she'll live."

"I want to see her. Let me talk to her." Cal walked forward, lifted his head to the camera above him.

"Can't let you do that." Nixon chuckled. "I have little time for your pitiful reunion attempt."

"Let me talk to her or this conversation is over."

"Are you sure you're in a place to be making that kind of decision. You haven't even heard the terms of my deal yet."

"What do you want?"Cal asked, voice relaxed.

"What does everyone want, Dr. Lightman?"

"Money?" Cal asked. He kept his voice calm. "Name your price."

The shrill laughter returned suddenly, eerily so, as the mask in front of them showed no reaction; kept Cal from reading if the sentiment was natural or not.

"And you've suddenly come into some money have you? Don't you think I know the financial situation of your firm?"

"I have friends," Cal returned matter-of-factly.

"Good friends, I assume? Friends at the FBI?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Really Lightman? Don't play stupid with me." Nixon sighed. "It's unbecoming of you." He snickered slightly. "The human lie detector."

"Is that why you're wearing the mask? Can't risk me finding you out?"

"It's a game, Lightman. Wouldn't want you having the upper hand now, would I? Wouldn't make me much of an artist, would it?"

"And is that what this is to you? Art?"

"No Lightman. This is _the_ game." When Cal returned silence, the voice chuckled again. "So what's become of the great Agent Ben Reynolds anyway?" He leaned into the camera placed his hands on the desk, palm flat.

"I wouldn't know," Cal said calmly, masking his intentions.

"Really now? You two used to be so close. I hear he has a desk job now."

Cal cocked his head toward the screen, searched it for clues. "You seem to know a lot about me and my firm. You a fan?"

He chuckled slightly and the voice bounced around the room again. Eli turned some dials, flicked a few lights on his switchboard. The screen in front of them phased out, returned slowly.

"—just a bystander," the voice returned midway through sentence. "Knew enough to take the exquisite Foster. Hit you where it hurts most, doesn't it?" He rubbed a hand across his chest. "Could've taken sweet, sweet, Emily I suppose." He sang, the crackling in his voice continuing. "But I don't hurt kids, Lightman." He leaned forward; lowered his voice. "Unlike some."

"And where does Foster fit into all of this?"

"She's my insurance, Lightman. That you won't pussy out on me."

"I can guarantee that I won't."

"You want her back?"

"More than anything."

"Good answer." He leaned back in his chair, placed his hands in his lap. "And you might just get her back, in one piece at least. Might want her back soon; I've got a few pit-bulls here ready to bite."

Cal walked toward the screen. "You so much as mess one little hair on her head..," he bellowed, threateningly.

"Or what?" Nixon raised his hands to the side.

"There's no deal."

"Deal? You don't even know what it is yet."

Cal was silent, paced backward to stand in his original spot.

"Five million."

The number choked the air from Cal's lungs and he gasped suddenly. "I thought this wasn't about money, that you knew my financial situation."

"Changed my mind," he cooed eerily. "You said you had friends; friends that weren't FBI."

"It'll take some time," Cal stalled.

"You want her back, or not?" he boomed. "What's she worth to you?"

"Everything," Cal said honestly, softly.

"What?" Nixon held a hand to his ear. "I don't think I heard that right."

"She means everything."

He began to nod slowly, rocked forward in his chair. "That's better."

"Five million for you and I get Foster back, yeah?"

"That's the deal." He placed a pointed finger to his chest, made an X on his chest. "Cross my heart."

Cal sighed slightly and squinted up at the screen. "I want to see her. I want to see Foster." He groaned slightly as the masked Nixon refused to move. "Look," he said opening his hands to the screen. "You want me to trust you, yeah? Give a little. Let me see that she's okay."

Nixon inhaled deeply and Cal watched as his shoulders rose and fell slowly. "All right."

The moments ticked by slowly until Cal finally heard movement. The sound came from the video's right. Hands bound, Gillian was brought in shuffling, and Nixon's strong hands pushed her into the chair. Eyes wide with fright, she looked from Nixon's hands to something or someone to her left. She followed Nixon's hand as he pointed toward Cal and the room.

"Say hi to your audience," he told her breathing heavily by her ear. "Say hi to Dr. Lightman."

Worried lines spread to Gillian's brow. Tears formed in her eyes and fell instantly. "Cal?" she cried. "Can you hear me?"

Cal smiled uncontrollably. "I can, love," and when her face didn't change with recognition, Cal lowered his voice. "Let me talk to her."

Nixon inhaled deeply and removed the earpiece from his ear, held it Gillian's lobe. "Darling, can you hear me?"

She smiled sadly as more tears fell. "I can," she choked, voice breaking. "I want to come home, Cal."

"I'm working on it," he soothed. "I'm bringing you home. I need you to be tough okay, love."

"Okay," she said, a fresh sob stealing her voice.

"That's enough," boomed Nixon, his eerie voice returning. "Say goodbye Gillian."

She looked sadly into the camera, mouthing words that Cal did not need Sarah to decipher.

_I love you._

Cal choked back the emotion rising within him, pushed it deep within his chest. He waited for Nixon to take his seat. "All right, Mr. Nixon." Cal sighed. "I'll let you have your deal."

" _The question isn't who is going to let me; it's who is going to stop me._ " The voice chuckled eerily again. "Dumbarton Bridge. 2 hours."

Transmission cut, the video turned to static, and the room fell to silence.


	7. Creature Comforts

As the door closed, Gillian Foster looked across the room to her company in his Kennedy mask. Immediate recognition hit her as the events started to take form.

"What does he mean by showtime?" she asked. She removed her thin blanket and placed her bare feet on the floor. The cold cement sent a shiver up from the soles of her feet, and made her quickly pull back.

Kennedy crossed the room to kneel in front of her.

"I think its finally time," he said, voice muffled through his mask. Gillian narrowed her eyes slightly as she made out the smile in his voice.

"Time for what?" she asked panic rising in her voice. She watched as he reached beside her, grabbing her socks which hung from the end of the cot.

He laughed slightly and looked up at her, and she caught the faintest glimmer of hope in his eyes. It warmed her insides; made her heart jump happily. He pulled on her socks quickly, yet gently, and reached forward to take her elbows in his hands.

"He's following the plan, Gillian." He exhaled quickly. "We're going to get you home."

* * *

The door opened and she stood, held lightly against Kennedy. He placed a hand to her back and soothed her, trailed a palm over his shoulder. She looked up at him slightly and he nodded. Together they walked toward Bush who opened his arm and directed them down the short hallway.

He took Gillian aggressively by the arm and her back straightened instantly.

"Easy," Kennedy warned, and the hand around her arm loosened considerably.

He pushed her into the first room they had brought her to, and she looked up to see the man in the Nixon mask standing in the center of the room, signaling her forward.

Hate flowed through her veins instantly as she saw the leader in this game she found herself in. Her opponent; the enemy.

She felt the heat flood her cheeks as she stepped toward him. The anger which sat heavily in her shoulders caused the muscles in her back to tighten. He gripped her arm and pushed her toward a chair.

Electrical equipment flourished in the room, sat on tables, on chairs, lined a bookcase in the corner that she had not seen before.

She sat heavily, pushed down by strong hands, and she looked toward Kennedy for a sign, any type of reassurance he could offer.

She looked to the gloved hand at her shoulder which raised from her and pointed forward. She followed his outstretched finger and looked directly into the lens of a video camera.

"Say hi to your audience," he told her breathing heavily by her ear. "Say hi to Dr. Lightman."

In front of her, above the camera, sat a small black and white monitor where Cal Lightman appeared on screen. He stood in the middle of their video room back at their office and the familiarity of the scene brought new emotions up from her gut.

Her Cal; there he was.

She gasped suddenly as the worried lines spread to her brow. Tears formed in her eyes and she let them fall unrelenting.

"Cal?" she cried out. "Can you hear me?"

She watched as he smiled uncontrollably and she waited to hear his voice. The lines fell from his face and he shook his head lightly. She stared vacantly at the screen.

She heard Nixon inhale deeply behind her and he placed an earpiece to her ear. The soft, familiar voice of Cal Lightman flooded her senses. She felt her shoulders relax slightly, nearly closed her eyes as his calm voice hit her ear. "Darling, can you hear me?"

She smiled sadly as more tears fell. "I can," she choked, voice breaking. "I want to come home, Cal."

Sadness stirred heavily in her heart, gripped her chest, and made it difficult to draw air into her lungs.

"I'm working on it," he soothed. "I'm bringing you home. I need you to be tough okay, love."

Again, a wave of sadness flowed through her, but her heart lightened with the faint glimmer of hope.

_He'd get her home. He'd come for her._

"Okay," she offered, a fresh sob stealing her voice.

"That's enough," boomed Nixon behind her. "Say goodbye Gillian." He pulled the earpiece from her ear.

It bubbled quickly, instantly, sprang from her naturally. She had one more thing she needed to say.

" _I love you,"_ she whispered quietly.

She was pulled quickly from her chair and was dragged across the room. She turned in Bush's arms, looked behind her as they exited, to the last she could see of Cal on the black and white monitor.

 _Please Cal,_ she thought, as more tears fell. _Find me._

* * *

She was pushed into her room suddenly, grappled toward her cot and stumbled. Kennedy followed and turned as Bush slammed the door sealing them inside.

"So that's it then," Kennedy said taking a few steps toward her, the smile still in his voice. "You're going home."

 _Home_. Gillian thought. _A shower. Her bed._

_Cal..._

She looked at him. "What's the deal?" she asked curiously.

He rubbed his gloved hands together in front of him. "An exchange."

"For?"

"You, for five million dollars."

"Five million," she choked as dread sank within the pit of her stomach. She shook the happiness and hope from her face.

"What?" He chuckled. "You don't think you're worth that?"

"Cal doesn't have that kind of money," she revealed honestly.

"For you he will."

"And _he'll_ honour his word?" she asked, voice choking.

"That's the plan," he said reassuringly. "I've never known him to be dishonest."

She sat on the cot, pulled the thin blanket over her legs by her bound hands. "You've known him for long then?"

"All my life." He walked forward and sat beside her. Slowly, he shimmied to rest against her and Gillian welcomed the warmth he gave to her body.

"That's long then?"

He sighed slightly and shook his head playfully. "You really are trying aren't you?"

She smiled warmly. "It's what I do."

"And you do it well." He lowered his head to look to his lap. "I've known him for long enough."

She looked up at him, searched through the holes in his mask. "I just wish I had a name; something to call you."

"You know I can't do that."

"Still…" she allowed her voice to trail on.

He sighed heavily and turned his body toward her. "I never wanted to be a part of this, Gillian. I never wanted any of this, but as _he_ puts it so clearly; we never had much of a choice in the matter."

"Why don't you stand up to him?"

"You've seen the position I'm in, haven't you?" He looked toward the door. "I'm doing what I can to make this right."

She reached forward, brushed against his leg with her hands. He pulled his attention away from the door.

"I do understand," she said looking up to him. "I'm sorry. It's just you've been such a comfort to me in all of this." She inhaled as the honesty spilled from her. "I'm worried about you. I just don't want to see you get hurt."

He removed his gloves carefully and placed them on the cot. Slowly, he reached forward and brushed the backside of his hand over her cheek, wiped a fresh tear from her face. She calmed under his touch and a tightening pulled at her stomach as he cupped his hand to her cheek.

"You don't have to worry about me," he said reassuringly. "It's you that I want to see safe." He pulled his hand from her suddenly, seeing something change in her face. "It'll all be over soon, and you won't have to worry anymore."

She looked to her hands; heat rose to her cheeks. "What is this all about?" she asked, voice pitch rising. "What is it you want from me?"

He shook his head slowly, breathed heavily again. "It has nothing do with you." He reached forward and lightly touched her arm. She welcomed the sensation; his kindness in it.

"Cal?"

"It has everything to do with him. What he's caused. What's he's done to-" He stopped himself short and laughed suddenly. "Look at _you_ ," he said shockingly. "Damn, you're good!"

She smiled. Lines formed at the sides of her mouth. "Not good enough I'm afraid."

"No," he reassured, shaking his head. "I don't know what it is with you; why I'm so taken with you." He stopped as she inhaled quickly, waited for her to release a heavy breath. "Maybe I'm just a sucker for those eyes of yours."

She blushed; looked down ashamed.

"I promise to get you home, Gillian," he said putting his hand to her shoulder. He trailed along the column of her back and repeated his motions as she released a few quick breaths.

She looked up, new tears falling down her face. "That sounds really nice," she released, closing her eyes slowly, mesmerized by the feeling of his hand on her back; the comfort he continued to show her. "I could use a hot bath."

He leaned forward. "You know, now that you mention it." She heard him inhale slightly. "You do kind of smell bad."

They laughed together and the sensation of it warmed her; made her heart jump, light and airy.

 _She was going home_ , she thought.

* * *

He sat with her quietly, mustered the courage to wrap his arm around her as they shared a final moment together; the grey suited Dr. Gillian Foster and the masked John F. Kennedy, Jr.

"I could say something," she said suddenly, interrupting their quiet solitude. "If any of this goes wrong, I'll tell them that you had nothing to do with it. That you were being used." Her voice cracked.

He rocked her gently beside him. "Nothing's going to happen," he soothed. "Except for you being safe and never hearing from me again."

She looked up sullenly with watered dark eyes. "That's what I'm afraid of. You deserve so much more than this."

She was shocked by her attachment to the man beside her; by the way her heart felt as he pulled her closer, forced her to rest her head against him. She smelled the strong smell of the rubber of his mask, the pleasant smell of his cologne, and his own scent. The scent returned to her from earlier when she was first taken; when her world was dark and she had nothing to rely on; trapped and bound in the back of the rattling van which shot quickly through the dark night.

"It'll all be over soon," he said quietly, and pressed his rubbered face to rest against the top of her head.

"You promise?" she asked him, shocked at how her voice bounced back weakly against him.

He raised a single finger to his chest, made an X over his heart. "Cross my heart."

The door opened suddenly and Gillian snapped her head from her resting place. Bush stared down at them in their embrace. His hand gripped the handle of the door tightly.

Bush shook his head at the pair. "You should see what our little eye in the sky pulled up." He directed the news at Gillian. "Your little partner has been a very naughty, naughty boy."

"What do you mean?" Kennedy asked standing, leaving Gillian's side.

Bush looked back to her, ignored Kennedy's interest. "Doesn't he ever play by the rules?"

Gillian raised her chin; narrowed her eyes on him. "Cal plays by his own rules."

Bush laughed under his mask. Muffled at first, it grew quickly to echo around the room. "Let's go short stuff," he bellowed. "Time to suit up."

Kennedy nodded, shook his arms by his side. "You want me to hood her?"

Bush chuckled shrilly. "There's really no need anymore."

"Okay," he said reaching forward to take Gillian by her hands, lifting her from the cot.

Bush laughed again. "Maybe you didn't hear me. She won't be needing a hood at all."

Bush turned to Nixon who appeared suddenly behind him, and the two shared a laugh. Kennedy clenched his fists; realization stirred within the room.

The tightness returned to Gillian's gut and she began to shake.

"What about returning her safe?" he asked stepping toward Nixon, concern growing in his voice. "That was our deal." he added strongly, pointing a shaking finger.

Nixon shook his head and chuckled. "Returning her was never part of the deal, so it seems."


	8. The Drop

It had taken less than five hours for the skies to come crashing down.

They sat low, heavy, and blanketed the city of Washington, DC, unrelenting. The roads were quiet; the city had turned in on itself.

Cal Lightman sat in his silver Prius listening to the hot air pump through his vents; watched as his wipers danced rhythmically across his windshield. The sweeping sound of their movement was his only comfort; kept time for him methodically.

He reached beside him and felt the heavy canvas of the duffel bag to his right. He gripped it; his security.

He rubbed his hands together and crossed his arms, leaned forward to look out the front of his car.

The skies were lit with nothing but white; small flakes fell upon him in multitudes. It spread out in front of him heavily; a thick, marshmallowy white. His frame of reference traveled not more than five feet in front of his car. Dumbarton Bridge began, and sank quickly into the pillowy, thick white.

He checked his watch.

_Soon._

The streets were vacant; not a soul in sight.

Not even a car.

Any car.

The car.

Cal leaned back heavily and shook his leg. He grimaced and adjusted the earpiece which sat uncomfortably by his lobe.

"Lightman," came the voice of Ben Reynolds in his right ear. "How we doing?"

Cal continued to shake his leg. He sighed into the collar of his shirt. "Bloody well perfect," he said. "Should've used the loo."

Ben chuckled lightly in his ear. "You have anything in there?"

Cal leaned forward searched the floor of his passenger's seat.

"Nothin'. This place is spotless." He leaned back. "Foster's doing, I suppose."

Cal grimaced as the feeling in his gut tightened again.

Ben was silent for a moment. He spoke low. "Level head, clear mind, Cal."

Cal chuckled. "That what they're feeding you boys downtown, is it?" He allowed himself a shallow smile.

Ben sighed. "Just keep on task, Lightman. Make the drop and get out." He paused. Cal's wipers continued to work across his windshield. "Foster is number one. Let us worry about the rest."

"She's always number one, mate."

"Just so we're clear."

"Crystal."

* * *

Time passed slowly, painfully, as the pain in his gut, the tightening of his stomach and his emotions stirred.

He shook his leg again, searched behind him in the backseat for a cup, anything to help ease his discomfort. He looked outside; the same deserted street.

And still no car.

He checked his watch. He probably had time.

"That's it," he said into his mic. "My back teeth are floating."

"Cal..." came the cautionary tone of Agent Reynolds in his ear. "Stay in the car."

He turned up his collar, pulled his hood over his head, opened his car door, and left the warmth of the vehicle. The wind and snow hit his face, stung his skin like a million tiny pellets. He raised his shoulders to protect himself and quickly moved around to the back of the car.

The bulbous head of one of Dumbarton's famous buffalo sculptures looked down on him from under a sheet of white, nostrils flared. Cal looked up at Alexander Phimister Proctor's work and unzipped his pants.

"Sorry mate," he gasped. "Nature calls and all."

He fought against the urge to close his eyes as he emptied his bladder. It wasn't until he noticed the flashing in the distance that his senses were brought back to the present and he quickly pulled at his fly.

He could barely see the faint double lit beam of light ahead of him. It flashed in threes and then died away through the white wall of snow. Again it began.

Flash. Flash. Flash.

_The signal!_

"Showtime folks," he said into his collar.

Cal sprang to the passenger's seat and quickly pulled the duffel bag from the seat. He threw it over his shoulder and trudged across the thick snowy street. He felt the weight of the snow, the pull hit his knees. Pellets stung his eyes, blurred his vision, making it twice as difficult to make out where he was going.

He found the low guard rail of the sidewalk that lined the bridge and followed it closely. His hand gripped around the bag's strap at his shoulder.

Flash. Flash. Flash.

The beams of light began to shine easily through the white haze as Cal approached, neared closer. Cal squinted through the snow and bright lights; could make out the front of a dark sedan. He stopped in the line of the headlights and waited.

The lights of the car stopped flashing and Cal heard the opening and closing of the door.

"What the fuck man?" A voice emerged through the snow. "I was beginning to think you weren't going to show."

"Where's Foster?" Cal asked, unable to mask the anger thickening his voice. He swallowed a hard lump in the back of his throat.

"The bag first," the man ordered. Cal squinted; could make out the faint image of a gun in the man's hand. A dark hood covered his face.

Cal hesitated for only a second.

"Let's go man!" the man's voice threatened. "I don't have all fucking day."

" _The exchange, Cal_ ," Ben warned in his ear.

Cal pulled the bag from his shoulder and tossed it heavily to the man in front of him. "Now Foster." He gasped. "Where is she?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, man." The dark figure kept Cal in his sights, backed slowly to his vehicle.

"Oh, fuck no," and Cal shot forward through the heavy snow.

He was met by the barrel of a gun, heard the clicking of its safety. "Don't be stupid man." The man waved it threateningly toward Cal.

Cal ducked, held his hand in front of him. "All right, all right." He inhaled deeply, felt the icy cold enter his lungs and fade away. "There was an exchange; a deal. I give you that and you give me Foster; a woman. You were supposed to bring me a woman."

The man reached into the inside coat pocket of his coat and held up an envelope. He tossed it and it fluttered in the wind, landed just in front of Cal's feet.

"There's your deal."

The man backed up quickly and entered his vehicle. Cal heard the engine click into drive and the car urged forward aggressively. Cal grabbed the envelope at his feet and rolled quickly to safety, inches from the tires as they slid in the snow.

He watched as the taillights left him and disappeared into the wall of white ahead. In the distance, he could vaguely make out the flashing of red and blue lights. He heard the calling of Ben Reynolds in his ear as they surrounded the dark sedan; instructed the figure to exit the vehicle.

Cal pulled himself from the snowy street and shook the envelope in his hand. He opened it quickly and emptied its contents into his hand. A plastic card wrapped in a piece of paper fell out and he turned it in his hand. Gillian Foster's face beamed up at him from the driver's license and he tore the paper from it.

"Cal!" came the voice in his ear. "What is it?"

Cal looked up to watch as Ben neared him. He stopped a few feet from Cal and squinted through the snow. "What is it?"

Cal squinted back at him and raised his voice over the commotion of Dumbarton. "It's an address."

* * *

The black Suburban shot through the empty streets of the city; raced forward through the snow and sleet. Headlights blazing from the truck's roof, it reflected back against the white of the sky.

Cal sat in the passenger's seat, mindlessly thumbing the picture of Gillian in his hand. The card's plastic grew hot against his thumb but he did not care; continued in his motions as the sensation brought comfort to his growing concern.

They turned at an intersection and the heavy truck gave out slightly. Wheels turned to correct itself as it slid at the mercy of the slick snow; the talented Ben Reynolds at the wheel.

They entered the parking lot of the vacated mall, turned a corner, and headed forward through the heavy snow to the rear of the mall. Ahead of them, under the bright lights of the parking lot, sat a large, dark van, heavily covered in snow.

Ben pushed a heavy foot on the brakes and the vehicle came to a halt. He reached to take hold of Cal's arm.

"Let's be careful." He inhaled quickly. "Be ready."

Cal ignored him and opened the door, jumped heavily onto the ground. Ben met him by the front of the car and pulled his weapon from his holster. With one arm out, he instructed Cal to keep behind him. Together they approached the driver's side window covered in snow.

Ben gripped his gun tightly with both hands, and pointed it toward the driver's window. "FBI! Out of the vehicle now!" he said aggressively, and when there was no sound from within the vehicle, he moved around to peer into the passenger's side.

"It's empty," Ben said aloud and they moved in tandem to the back of the van. Ben looked to Cal and nodded.

He mouthed, counted down from three, and together they opened the rear heavy doors of the van. They peered inside.

It was empty; all but for a single, dark object in the center of the floor; the unmistakable dark fabric of a zippered body bag.

Tears formed in his eyes and Cal shot into the van. He fell to his knees beside the bag and with shaking hands reached forward. Atop the bag sat a single white piece of paper with dark lettering scrawled heavily across it: **I SAID NO FBI. NO COPS.**

Cal felt his heart sink, felt his anxiety turn to regret, to hatred, and he surrendered as it coursed heavily through every inch of his body.

_Please God, no._

He turned to Ben who looked toward him; sadness lined his face.

_We were too late._

Gillian's face spread across his mind; her smile.

The way her bright blue eyes shone when she laughed. Her little touches to his chest. The way her lip turned when she was jealous. The way the fury spread through her, made her red and heated when he did something wrong. The way her nose wrinkled when he successfully spoke to her girlish ways.

The way she turned his head. The way she knew his eyes traveled her backside; the way she didn't care and rolled her hips more graciously for him. The way she blushed when he crawled toward her, when they sat dangerously close to one another, and he could smell her; so close he could taste her.

Her freckles.

Her laughter filled his ears.

The tears fell from his eyes; ran their course down his face.

Cal reached up with shaking fingers and gripped the bag's zipper. Slowly, he lowered it.

But he did not find a familiar face.

Instead, he found a series of wires and piping, and two clear plastic bottles full of a liquid he was sure he'd seen before.

He opened the zipper quickly and looked down to watch as the red numbers flashed up at him.

8...

7...

6...

Cal sprung forward and took Ben's arm in his grasp.

Ben did not ask questions, did not look behind him as they ran together through the snow and took shelter behind the big, dark suburban.

The explosion spread out, shattered the windows of the Suburban; rained small shards of glass down onto them.

The men looked up to one another and moved slowly around the corner of their FBI issued truck to watch as the flames burned bright and fought against the heavy snowfall.

* * *

The sound of a cell phone made Ben and Cal jump as they stood staring at the burning van in front of them.

Ben reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his cell phone.

Cal's thought wandered as he watched the flames burn through the metal and rubber. He heard the muffled voice of Ben Reynolds but could not make out the words he was saying.

He felt sick; the anxiety burned through him heavy and thick, refused to leave him.

Ben met him by his side.

"They have our contact in custody," he said waiting for Cal to meet his eyes. "He's not talking without a lawyer."

"He'll talk," Cal said; no emotion left in his voice. "I'll squeeze every last drop out of him."

"There's more," he said frowning. "The money is gone."

"How?" Cal asked, pitch rising in his tone.

"He threw it over Dumbarton onto the parkway below." Ben placed his phone back in his jacket pocket. "Must have done it when we lost visual through the snow."

Cal nodded as he placed the pieces together in his mind. "They were waiting. Were under us the whole bloody time." He squinted toward Ben. "And our tracking device?"

Ben sighed. "They found it. Switched bags." He rubbed a hand over his face. "We found the bag under Dumbarton."

The two men fell silent and turned back to watch the red hot flames as they lit the sky.

They were running out of cards to play.

Gillian Foster was running out of time.


	9. Atonement

"Returning her was never part of the deal, so it seems."

The angry words hung thick in the air, gripped to Gillian's chest, pushed the fear through her veins. She shook slightly as the tension rose to her face.

"But you made a deal," she gasped; forced air into her words quickly.

She watched as Kennedy looked back at her as he was pulled quickly through the doorway. Bush reached inside and grabbed the handle quickly before Gillian could reach the heavy door. She slammed her shoulder against it as it closed.

"You made a deal!" she screamed. "You can't leave me here!"

She pulled on the handle awkwardly with bound hands. Tears streamed down her face.

"You made a deal!" she forced again. "A deal!"

She waited, gasped heavily, listened as footsteps left the other side of the door and began to climb the hollow stairs.

_They were leaving her._

"Hey!" she screamed and slammed her shoulder against the door once more. She listened again, looked above her as footsteps moved down what she assumed was a hallway. She heard the opening and slamming of the door.

"Hey!" she called again.

She slammed her shoulder against the door again, felt the pain sear through her shoulder, across her back. The tension rose from her toes, shook her core, and she released it through clenched teeth. Her own shriek echoed against the walls, hit her ears with sheer force sending the pain through her temple. She released it again; let the frustration pour from her mercilessly.

She stepped forward and forcefully grabbed hold of the edge of her cot. She threw it, turned it on its side. She stood back as it crashed to the floor in front of her, echoed against the walls around her. She paused and waited, lifted her ear to the floor above her, heard nothing.

She gasped and fought for breath, looked around her amazed at her own strength, at the tension, the pleasure it brought her to finally release it.

She turned to the small table beside her and in keeping her arms tight together, ran them across the table sending a few items to the floor. A half full water bottle bounced against the floor and fell dead. A small metal bowl crashed and spun, twirling in a small circle on the floor. A deer hunting magazine fell to the floor, fluttered open to a page of a hunter kneeling beside his catch.

She felt the sweat trace across her brow and she reached up with both hands to wipe her face. Her eyes burned from crying, from the frustration.

She looked down to her hands and twisted them in her bonds. Instantly the pain hit her, and she held them still, willing for the aching to cease. They were red, raw, and the skin was beginning to lift away from her arm under the harsh thick plastic.

She brought her wrists to her mouth and attempted to gnaw on the plastic. She cocked her head in an effort to get a better angle on her bonds. She grimaced and held back, fought against the tears which cruelly wished to return to her eyes.

The plastic fought back against Gillian's useless attempts and she searched around the room frantically.

She knelt beside her upturned cot and began to run her plastic bonds over the wire frame. She changed angles, searched the cot for a sharp edge; found none.

She neared the furnace and hot water tank, housed in the corner of the room, and searched high and low, squinting through the shadow the dim lighting cast upon the corner. Carefully, she trailed dexterous fingers over corners and edges; again came up fruitless in her attempt.

The hot water tank sat to her right and she neared it hoping to find a hot pipe, something to release her of her bonds. She found its piping, neared it with careful ambition. The pipes felt cool to the touch. The machine was not running, had not been connected.

She gasped, released her frustration quickly, and screamed again.

She scanned the room again breathing heavily; nothing to free her hands.

She reached down, gripped hold of the cot, and turned it upright. She replaced the thin mat on top of it and sat, elbows resting on her knees. She pressed her hand to her forehead. She felt warm, considerably warm, and the pain in her stomach was beginning to rise again.

_How long have I been here? How long have I gone without food?_

She looked up to the single bulb attached to the ceiling. With no natural lighting she had no idea how long she'd been there, had no idea of the time. She shifted down the cot and rested her head on the musty fabric. She curled her knees to her chest.

It relieved the pressure on her head, helped her heart pump blood easily to all parts of her body. The heat continued to course through her. She shivered.

" _Returning her was never part of the deal, so it seems."_

 _But what did he mean by that?_ Gillian thought with difficulty.

Dread clung to her, stole her breath again. She coughed dryly, felt the bile rise to her stomach again. She grimaced, felt the wave roll over her suddenly.

She wasn't going home.

_God, Cal. What have you done?_

* * *

The sound of heavy boots on hollow stairs woke her suddenly and she shot upright on the cot. Sweat clung to her body, a heavy weight on her skin. Her muscles gripped tight and she waited for them to enter the room.

Instead, she listened as they walked by her, marched down the hall to the opposing room.

"He's sure to call, don't you think?" came the familiar voice of Kennedy.

She heard laughter as they passed her, and then the shuffling of feet ceased.

"If our little gift doesn't blow him to pieces first that is," cooed Bush.

Gillian's eyes opened wide as she stared at the door, strained to eavesdrop on their conversation.

The sound of heavy boots began again, neared her and she stood from her cot. She took a step back as stars flew across her sight, as her vision blackened. She blinked, squinted as the door opened.

The familiar form of Kennedy entered the room and paused holding the door open as he looked across the room to make eye contact with Gillian.

Her voice low, she released it in a growl. "What have you done? What have you done to Cal?"

He held out his hands to her, offered a sense of surrender. "I don't know, Gillian," he panted. "I wasn't there." He closed the door behind him and took a step toward her hesitantly. "I don't know what they've done, but it can't be good."

Tears formed in her eyes again and she took a step forward as the anger coursed through her. The darkness took hold of her unexpectedly and she collapsed heavily to the floor.

He reached her quickly and turned her carefully on her back. He removed his gloves, looked down at her as she moaned, breathing heavily. He placed the backside of his hand to her forehead and sighed. "You're burning up."

He reached under her and swiftly drew her into his arms. She placed her heavy head against him and inhaled the familiar scent. She shook slightly, surrendered to the fever invading her body.

He placed her on the cot and searched the room, paused to admire the mess she had made. He returned with the bottle of water, opened it and placed it to her lips.

With shaking hand she accepted the bottle, let the liquid trail her throat. She looked up at him weakly as he placed the thin blankets around her shoulder.

He trailed his hands over her shoulders carefully, as if willing to shake away the fever. "I'll figure this out, Gillian."

She nodded slowly.

The door to the room flew open, and Bush entered suddenly, braced a hand against the door frame. In his other hand, he held a shoe box.

"Your brother wants to see you," he said gruffly, urgency to his tone. "Something about your share."

Kennedy stood slowly, his shoulders broadened as he looked toward Bush. Gillian watched as his hands pulled from her, as they clenched by his side.

Bush chuckled playfully. "It sounded urgent. Don't worry I'll watch her for you."

* * *

Bush watched Kennedy carefully as he left the room.

Gillian with her head bowed low, listened to Kennedy's heavy boots fading into the distance and she turned to Bush slowly, to find him glaring down at her. Her eyes narrowed on him as he entered slowly, closing the door behind him, careful not to make a sound.

"That was quite the adventure," he said low, as we walked across the floor slowly. He gripped hold of the armchair with one hand and pulled it toward her.

"What have you done to Cal?" she growled, voice low and shaking.

His laughter muffled under his mask and she watched as his shoulder shook from the emotion. "Let's just say, I don't we'll have to be worrying about him anymore."

She inhaled quickly, fought to keep her breath steady in front of the man before her. Fury rose, blinded her quickly as the rage came in torrents.

He laughed at her and dragged the chair to rest under the handle of the door.

Gillian gripped her water bottle tight, heard the clicking of thin plastic from her hands.

Bush turned to stand close to her. He opened the shoe box removing the lid and threw it to the floor. "You see?" he asked her, tilting the box so she could see that it was full of loose money. The many faces of Benjamin Franklin looked down at her mockingly. "You see what you're worth?" He peered into the box. "Well, this times three, of course."

She threw the plastic bottle toward him and he ducked skilfully out of the way of the flying plastic. He turned slowly, chuckle deep within his chest.

He ignored her torment. "Can you believe that a life comes down to this?" he asked. "I would've asked for more. And you know what? That guy of yours probably would have paid it. He's cheap and now it's making you look cheap. Just smell it." He flicked the box, and tossed the money into the air. It tumbled, fluttered down around her. "This is your life in green."

With her distracted, he reached forward and took her aggressively by the arm, pulling her toward him.

She spat and kicked his shin, attempted to pull from him, to rip her arm from his grasp. She opened her mouth, tried to scream, but he reached behind him and quickly pulled a knife. He pressed it to her throat.

"Now be a good girl, Gillian," he said, exhaling quickly as a wave of warm stale air spread over her face. "And I won't have to use this."

She stared down at the hilt of the long blade. He gripped it tightly, turned the point slowly against her long neck. She inhaled through her nose. A tear ran down her cheek.

He chuckled low, throaty.

Her legs were taken out from under her suddenly and she came crashing to the floor, the back of her head making contact with the hard cement. She pulled her knees up her chest and kicked, made contact with his groin. He fell on her quickly, braced her legs straight under his weight. His chest pressed against her tightly, pinning her.

He pressed the knife into her side and with his free hand, wound his fingers under her blazer, under her shirt. Gloved hands made contact with her skin and she shied away from the leather. His groin pressed into her and she could feel him growing hard against her. He ground his hips into her and she exhaled quickly.

"Doesn't take me long, does it now?" he said low, leaning forward.

He pulled his hand from under his shirt and took his glove in his teeth. He removed it quickly and threw it beside them. His rough hands made contact with her skin as he trailed up her body, attempted to move under her bound hands.

He looked down. "I can see these will cause me some grief." He pulled the knife from her side and pushed it under her plastic bonds. "Now hold still," he moaned. "Wouldn't want to be slicing any appendages."

His motion was fluid and he quickly released her hands. She threw them to his chest and beat against him; shocked at her weakness, the numbness that spread through her sore arms. He grabbed her forearms and held them to the side; pressed them tightly to the cold floor.

He trailed his eyes over her, paused at her middle to watch her chest rise and fall rapidly. She heard him laugh, the confident smile come to his face. "You are a fiery one," he wheezed and leaned forward to inhale slowly. "And you smell so damn good; fear mixed with arousal."

She writhed under him, fought against his weight, but her attempts were hopeless. He released her suddenly and lifted himself to place the whole of his weight against her middle. He reached for the base of her shirt and in one fluid motion, raised the fabric, bra and all, over her breasts, exposing her to the cold air. He sighed heavily and lifted the base of his mask over his lips. He leaned forward, reached to grip her forearms again.

Teeth scraped her skin as his tongue tasted her, and she fought against his motions, attempted to roll out from under him. She released a weak scream as his teeth sunk into the top of her breast.

His forearm shot to her throat and he pressed heavily against her larynx. Air pulled from her, and her lungs fought against the tension. Her abdomen heaved as he trailed it with a rough hand; fingertips traced across the top of her panties. Her eyes grew wide with fear.

He leaned forward tongued her face, removing a fresh tear as it fell.

He looked away from her suddenly and Gillian fought against the pounding in her ears, strained to decipher the noise coming at them from behind the door.

Bush turned back to her frantically. "We'll have to make this quick." He gasped and leaned away from her to unzip his pants. She rolled her shoulders, struggled against his weight, but she could not move. Darkness swirled around her and the room came in and out of focus.

The weight above her pressed heavily and was gone suddenly. She heard a crashing to her left and she rolled away from it; found herself free. Her nails dug into the cold cement floor and she pulled herself to her knees as the room began to come back into focus.

She inhaled heavily, tugged at her shirt, covering her body. She turned to the commotion behind her.

Kennedy grappled atop Bush and she could make out the punches, his heavy fists which flew through the air making contact with Bush's face. Bush groaned under his attacker. The pounding seemed relentless.

She looked to the open door expecting to see Nixon enter, having been brought forward by the sound of the brawl. She waited and waited, and when he did not show, and she did not hear the sound of his boots heading her way, she rose with shaking knees and threw herself toward the door.

The darkness swirled around her again and she gripped the door frame, willed her legs forward finding an empty hallway and no approaching sound. She hurled forward, found the stairs in the dimmed lighting; through parted vision. She climbed rapidly, reached forward with her hands to maintain her balance.

She pushed on the door ahead of her, found a different dimmed lighting as faint natural light streamed in the windows around her. She was standing in a rustic kitchen; a door was to her left.

She shot forward and pulled on the handle with all her strength. Lazily her grip responded to her needs and she forced her muscles to tighten, willed them to function. It was then that she looked up, saw the heavy nails which were driven through the door to its frame. The kitchen, the rear of the cottage, was sealed shut.

She exhaled heavily and turned quickly to find a long hallway, a door to the outside world ahead of her. She threw herself forward again, legs weak under her weight. Her socked feet echoed around her, bounced back against empty walls. She reached her arm forward ready to grasp the metal door handle.

A straight arm made contact with her chest and sent her tumbling to the floor.

She gasped and rolled to her side, brought her arms to her chest to press against the pain. She turned back to find a pair of heavy work boots beside her. She looked up through the dim light, as the mask of Richard M. Nixon came into view.

"Going somewhere Ms. Foster?"

* * *

She was dragged heavily down stairs; a hand gripping her hair. Nixon threw her into her holding room and she fell forward, found the safety of the cot beneath her.

"What the fuck is going on here?" he boomed. He slammed the door behind him.

The scrap in the room ceased and Kennedy jumped up from Bush. Fists still clenched by his side, he turned toward Nixon gasping heavily.

"He was all over her!" he screamed.

Nixon shot forward toward Kennedy. The motion made Gillian jump suddenly. "And?"

"And she's mine!"

Gillian looked up with wide eyes, watched as Kennedy shook uncontrollably.

Nixon shook his head and placed his hands on the top of his head. "Fuck, kid!" he screamed. "She's not your damn pet! You can let yourself get attached."

"I know that," he returned, fist shaking. "But if anyone is gonna have her, you said it was me!" He pointed toward her. "You fucking owe me for this!"

The room fell silent; even the sound of Bush's moaning ceased

"All right bro," he said, reaching forward to pat Kennedy lovingly on the arm. "I'll let you have your fun."

They shared another moment of silence; a quiet emotion was shared between them, one that Gillian could not easily make out through the darkness of the holes in their mask.

Nixon trudged toward Bush and picked him from the floor. Blood trailed Bush's face, down his hands and forearms. He did not look toward Gillian as they left and closed the door.

Gillian heard the familiar lock latch the door tight.

* * *

Kennedy stood by the table with his back to Gillian and opened a new bottle of water. He pushed the bottle under her mask and let his shoulders fall heavily as he drank.

Gillian looked to the floor; saw the unmistakable shiny, long blade of Bush's knife by her feet. She realised that it must have landed there during the earlier struggle. She reached to grab it but Kennedy sighed and turned to walk toward her. She froze and sat up straight.

He refused to look up at her as he neared her dejectedly. He held the water bottle out for her in one hand, opened his other hand producing two white pills.

When she hesitated, he sighed shallowly. "They're ibuprofen; nothing more."

With a shaking hand she reached for them. "Thank you," she offered pressing the bottle to her lips.

He sat beside her and placed a hand to her forehead. "You're hot," he said concern heavy within him.

"Thanks," she said, a smile lightly pressed against her lips.

He looked down at her hands and he reached forward to taken them in his own. "I keep apologising to you," he said honestly. "I don't think 'I'm sorry' is going to cut it this time."

She tightened her grip on his hand. "But you saved me," she said. Her voice choked from her abruptly.

He nodded slowly and pulled himself onto the cot to rest his back against the wall. He reached forward, took the two thin blankets in his hand and opened it for her, inviting her beside him.

With heavy head, she crawled toward him, allowed him to place the blankets over her, wrapping it tightly to her body. She placed her head on his shoulder and looked up at him.

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and with his hand, ran gentle fingertips along her hairline, drawing her hair from her face.

"Nik," he said to her as she settled against him.

"What?" she asked. A shiver gripped her body, and he rubbed the column of her back carefully.

"Earlier you wanted to know my name; it's Nik."


	10. The Kovalenkos

Cal Lightman burst through the doors of The Lightman group with Agent Ben Reynolds by his side. Their entourage in lacklustre dark suits and jackets followed closely behind.

Cal stormed past reception and Anna looked up quickly to see him whiz by, arms swinging widely as he stepped.

"Where's Dr. Foster?" she hollered after him, voice shaking with worry.

Cal ignored her and continued toward his destination. The team behind him split off into tandems, each having been prepped on their next course of action. Agent Reynolds knew better and quickly followed Cal in his mission. Anna stepped gingerly behind them, her heels barely clicking on the tiled flooring.

Cal opened the door to the sequencing room and searched within it. He turned abruptly, and approached Anna, head cocked toward her.

Anna inhaled deeply. "What smells like burning?" she asked, voice low, hesitant.

Cal rolls his eyes slightly. "Where's Loker, Anna? Where's Ria?"

Anna's back straightened at the urgency in his tone. "I—I—," she stammered. "I think they're in the break room."

Cal smiled through his grimace. "Get... them... here... now."

She nodded obediently, turned on her heel, and walked from them at a quickened pace.

Ben lowered his voice. "You want to fill me in on what's going through that head of yours?"

"A hunch, Agent Reynolds; a mere hunch."

Cal pushed on the door and disappeared into the darkened room.

* * *

With Eli at the helm, Cal stood in the middle of the room. Ria munched noisily on a sandwich to his left. Agents Reynolds and Dillon stood behind him with their arms crossed, and waited anxiously for Cal to enlighten them on their next course of action.

Cal pointed at the screen as Eli pulled up the recording of their first encounter with the man in the Nixon mask. He let the video play, and scanned his eyes over the video frame-by-frame as it played in real time.

His eyes narrowed on the video at times, and when the video ended and they were faced with the frightened face of Gillian Foster, Cal turned to Eli.

"Now rewind the video," Cal instructed, moving to stand by Eli.

Eli did as he was told, and when the video hit the correct frame, Cal shot forward. "Now pause it. Right there."

Eli paused the video.

Eli, Ria, and Agents Reynolds and Dillon stared at the screen. The man in the Nixon mask stared at the video camera, back straight, hands on his knees. Ben and Bernard looked to Eli, who looked to Ria, who was squinting at the screen attempting to see what her boss had seen. She shook her head in frustration.

"What is it?" Ria asked bravely.

Cal shook his head and walked toward the screen. "His hands. Don't you see it?" and when all that looked back at him were blank faces and pursed lips, he walked toward the screen and pointed at Nixon's gloved hands. "Here."

Ria stopped mid-chew, and with mouth full asked, "His hands? What? His gloves?"

Cal sighed and turned to Eli. "Pull up the second video," he instructed and returned to Eli's side.

Again, Eli did as instructed and he let the video play.

"Turn off the sound," Cal instructed.

The team watched in silence as the video played on, as the figure on screen, leaned forward, leaned back, placed his hands in front of him, and pulled his hands back.

Ria watched carefully, paid close attention to Nixon's gloved hands. She sat back and crossed her arms.

Eli shrugged his shoulders.

"Do you see it now?" Cal asked turning to Ria.

She nodded to him. "I think so."

Cal reached forward as Gillian came into the shot, and at the desired time, he reached over Eli and paused the video feed.

Eli leaned back in his chair and placed his pen in his mouth. "I don't get it. Is the type of gloves he's wearing?"

Cal sighed again and walked toward the screen where it was split, showing them the two Nixons. He pointed to his hand, more importantly to the man's pinky finger which seemed to be raised in each shot.

"So it's lifted," Eli said matter-of-factly. "Maybe he likes to raise it, like the British do at tea time?"

Cal turned slowly to him and glared. "Look at the footage," Cal forced, and when Eli turned to him, his eyebrows pinned together, he leaned forward and whispered close to this ear. "Stand up."

"What?"

"Stand up," he repeated.

Eli stood.

Cal tilted his head toward Ria and motioned toward Eli. "Now go make him sit down."

Ria stood obediently and walked toward Eli. Cal held out his hand to her.

" _Make_ him sit down," Cal oozed. "I mean _really_ make him sit down."

Ria nodded , gripped tightly around Eli's shoulders and made him sit down. Eli slumped into his chair heavily and turned to Cal.

"Okay," Eli said. "So he's not just holding it up."

Ben walked forward and unhooked one of his arms. "What is it then?" he asked looking to Cal. "Is it broken?"

"Nah," Cal said shaking his head. "It's a prosthetic or a piece he has in the glove."

"That's quite the leap," Ben offered. "What if it's just broken?"

"It's not."

Cal walked toward Eli and motioned for him to move from his chair. Eli held his hands up in his defence and stood. Cal sat and busily set to work with the mouse and keyboard, enticed by his task.

On screen, digital documents opened and closed in front of them. Digital folders were opened and set aside and finally, when Cal found what he was looking for, he expanded the document on screen.

The team squinted up at the news paper article that flashed for them. Flags of the United States of America and the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics; the production lines of ammunition, of bombs; Uncle Sam riding a seesaw with a big brown bear: images of The Cold War.

Cal zoomed in on the article and the team skimmed over its content. The USA. Spies. Russian spies leaking military information back to the USSR; information about the production lines of ammunition, of bombs.

Cal looked up to the confused faces and he began.

"I was called in by the Pentagon in 1992 to talk to this guy here." He zoomed in on the picture of the article. A man held his face away from the on looking cameras. A dark mop of hair sat atop his head; his hands in cuffs. "A Mr. Evgeny Kovalenko," Cal continued. "Accused of being a Russian spy, I hounded this guy for days, and I mean, hounded him. I tore sheets off him; squeezed every last bit of information out of him. He was tough," Cal said, a slight smile coming to his face. "And I mean really tough. I mean these guys were supposed to be like that, right?" Memories returned to him and he stood from Eli's chair. "He worked in the highest of security levels, practically handled every blueprint for every missile ever made on US soil. They tortured this guy, day in, day out, and when he cracked, he spilled his guts out to me. I watched this man break down; couldn't hack it for his country, you know."

Cal shoved his hands in his pockets and paced to the screen, looked up at it and cocked his head.

"But I cracked him," he nodded. "Was deemed a hero. One last guy out there. One last damn spy trying to hand our precious battle plans back to the Soviets."

Ria cleared her throat slightly. "And he wasn't guilty?"

He turned quickly, shook his head and pursed his lips. "Nah. He was bloody guilty all right. Tore his family apart I'm sure. We locked him up, threw away the key. At least for 11 years from what I remember, but Mr. Kovalenko never got out. Was shanked four days after he entered. Shame, really. The man died at the mercy of a shaved off toothbrush."

Ben crossed his arms again and sighed. "Sad story I'm sure," Ben said less than amused. "Where does Russian espionage fit into all of this?"

Cal raised his index finger and pointed it to Ben. "Right you are, Agent Reynolds," he said and returned to Eli's desk. He closed the items on the screen and they returned their attention to the second video message from the man in the Nixon mask. "Something he said at the end stuck with me, and I wasn't sure why until now."

Cal played back the sound clip.

" _The question isn't who is going to let me; it's who is going to stop me."_

Ben narrowed his eyes toward Cal. "Right," he said. "He's calling you out."

"No," Eli interjected. "I've heard that before too."

Eli reached forward and leaned over Cal. He opened a web browser and keyed in a search. He leaned back impressed, the parts of Cal's story beginning to fit together.

Cal nodded. "This is what set me off on the Russian tangent. These are famous lines from the popular Russian born, writer and novelist, Ayn Rand."

"And?"

"This woman was the leading writer of her time to introduce us to objectivism, anti-communism and the promotion of the self." He flicked through the web page and zoomed in on another quote by Rand.

" _Man—every man—is an end in himself, not a means to the ends of others; he must live for his own sake, neither sacrificing himself to others nor sacrificing others to himself."_

Cal looked up at the screen. "And our boy's going about this the wrong way, I'm afraid."

Ben took a heavy step forward and sighed. "Lightman, where are you going with this?"

"Right." Cal returned the news article to the screen and scrolled down the newsprint. He paused on the name of Natalya Kovalenko. "He left behind a wife and two boys; aged ten and two," he said sadly. He opened his notes on screen and scrolled through the document. The names of Andrei and Nikolay Kovalenko flashed up on the screen.

"Lightman," Ben said urgently, looking toward his watch.

Cal ignored him. "So this guy Kovalenko, he's getting beat for days right, I mean, bloody nose, closed eye, I have no bloody clue what they did to him, but when he wouldn't reveal it during the torture that our government apparently doesn't do-," He paused and glared toward Dillon. "They bring him to me to break his spirit, right? To shake him up some more, so he's a bawling mess at my feet."

Cal paused again and sauntered toward Ben and looked up at him. "So in his mess he turns to me, right, grips his hand around his baby finger, and says, 'Please, please, not my family, anything but them.' And I'm trained not to care right, I got the bloody government breathing down my back from both sides and I got bawling Kovalenko at my table scared of his own people."

He inhaled deeply, raised his hands in front of him and gripped his left little finger strongly with his right hand.

"'Please, please, he says, don't let them take more than my young boy's little finger.'" Cal moved back to displaying the video of the man in the Nixon on screen. "Andrei Kovalenko. One would assume his brother Nikolay is with him."

"Really?" Ben asked, eyes opened in surprise shock.

Ria chewed the sandwich in her mouth and swallowed. "To be honest, he's said crazier things."

Eli nodded. "She has a point."

Cal moved from Eli's chair again, and offered back to him graciously. Eli sat down and began to work, typed furiously on his keyboard. The screen flew through a multitude of digital files and online searches. Eli hacked where he could, and chewed his pen hungrily in his mouth.

* * *

"Again, Lightman," Ben offered. "That's quite the leap," and when Cal ignored him, "You're sure it's them."

"No," Cal uttered honestly, watching as Eli set himself to work. He shrugged his shoulders toward Ben.

"Then what are we going on here?"

"Blind faith. Luck. A hunch."

"A hunch? Is Gillian's life worth a hunch"

"Look, mate, as far as I'm concerned, she's got nothing left but my hunch." Cal breathed heavily. "It's saved us in the past, and besides, I've played by your rules and look where it got us; nearly blown up."

"Uh, Dr. Lightman," Eli said interrupting Cal. His hands froze over his keyboard.

"Yeah."

"The mom, _the_ Mrs. Natalya Kovalenko?"

"Yeah?"

"She's dead." Eli flashed a news article up onto the screen. "Nearly twenty years dead." He mused matter-of-factly and skimmed through the article. "Looks like suicide."

Two boys; Andrei and Nikolay left orphaned and at the mercy of the US government.

And Cal knew what the government did to unwanted children of accused communist spies.

"'I don't hurt kids', he said, 'Unlike some.'" Cal thought back to the earlier video. "He's blaming me for his family's mishap I'm sure of it." He looked away from Ben and stared at the screen as Eli scrolled through the article. "Give me every piece of property owned by Mrs. Kovalenko. I want to know if she left anything to her boys. From what I gather, it can't be much."

Eli tapped heavily on his keys and continued on his search. "Not much I'm afraid," he said quickly. "She had a one bedroom in Anacostia, but..."

"But what Loker?" Cal asked impatiently.

Eli turned in his chair, and pulled the pen from his mouth. "Mr. Kovalenko had a small cabin used for deer hunting up in Montgomery, Maryland."

"They would have been able to take the Rock Creek and Potomac Parkway," Ben gasped. "That's how they fled from us at Dumbarton."

"How's my hunch looking now?" Cal asked reaching for his coat.

"It's looking pretty damn good my friend," Ben said nodding to Dillon. "I said it before, and I'll say it again."He placed a hand to Cal's shoulder. "Now let's _really_ go get your girl back."

Cal nodded and smiled anxiously. "Fuck yeah, my friend."


	11. Refuge

An arm tightened around Gillian while she slept. She felt a hand twitch by her side. She opened her eyes slowly, and looked up from her tightly wound position.

The harsh light of the single light bulb in the room poured down on her. A shadow rested on the wall behind her; the tight knit shadow of her and Nik.

She could feel the heat rise from his body, to warm her under the thin blankets that draped around her. He snored peacefully above her, breathing heavily, and she closed her eyes as she pressed her ear flat against his chest, let the motion of his breathing calm her.

For a moment, it was peaceful.

But she wasn't sure how long it would last.

The house was quiet around her and she took the opportunity to relax for a moment, let her shoulders fall against Nik to meld her body against him. She placed her palm flat against his chest, and tucked her fingers under the thin jacket he wore to rest against the soft cotton of his t-shirt. He did not move under her touch and she continued to trail his chest, working her way toward the thin rubber mask that hid his face.

With delicate fingers, she wound her way under the Kennedy mask, and reached his skin; felt the stubble on her fingertips. She smiled as recognition began to unfold for her; he hadn't shaved in days by the feel of it.

His hand wound quickly around her elbow and her back straightened at the suddenness in his movement. His breath returned to normal and he released her elbow gently, left her fingers on his skin.

She placed her palm flat against his cheek. "Let me see your face," she whispered and trailed his skin laced with a thin layer of sweat.

He rolled her on her back and lifted himself, placed his weight on his elbow. He was silent above her, said nothing but pushed his face against her hand and allowed her to draw the mask over his chin, his lips.

A square jaw protruded for her, young with slight stubble, and she inhaled slowly as she rolled the mask up over her nose. He caught her forearm quickly before she could go any further, and turned to place a kiss to her palm. They stared at one another as he leaned forward, pressed his body slightly against her side, and kissed her forehead. He released her hand and wrapped her arm around his chest. He brought his hand to her face and gently stroked her cheek.

"Do you know I'm nearly half your age," he asked, a slight smile spreading to his lips. He pulled his mask down over his face and lifted himself to look at her.

She narrowed her eyes on him; her nose wrinkled. "What are you implying exactly?" she asked, and pushed a gentle knuckle into his ribs.

They laughed together and the sensation warmed her, heat flushed through her cheeks.

"I'm not implying anything," he said, lowering his voice. "You're a thousand times amazing, Gillian, and if things were different..." He reached down to take her hand and leaned forward so she could see his eyes under his mask. "God," he whispered."It's got to be those eyes of yours."

She smiled, blushed again, and brought her hand to his chest. She felt his heart beat strong under her palm.

"Does your partner know how lucky he is?" he asked running his fingertips over her hairline.

"I hope so."

* * *

The fleet of black Suburbans roared down the Dwight D. Eisenhower Memorial Highway, speeding quickly toward their destination. They ate up the road in bounds, as cars veered to the sound of the roaring engines behind them. Red and blue lights lit up the sky.

The midday light was beginning to fade and the clouds had lifted from the city; had pushed themselves away now rid of their blessing, the white they had spread over the land.

Tree tops glittered with fresh snow reflected the sun's rays in tiny particles. Cal looked out the passenger side window at the trees roaring by and thought of Gillian.

The fleet turned from the highway and traveled at a quick pace down another road. They were tossed slightly with each bump, with each pothole, but the road was no match for the suspension and shocks of the heavily suited Suburbans.

They turned again, down another pothole infested road, bumped and roared on.

Gradually their speed slowed, gradually the suspension on the truck eased, and the fleet pulled onto a gravelled road. They crept forward, turned left and right, down one road and onto another.

The road began to turn to gravel and narrowed. The trees around them, uncut and unattended to, scraped across the roof of the truck, pushed them, funnelled the fleet into a tight line.

They slowed to a stop and instructions rang through the communication devices in the squad.

"We're going to have to travel the rest of the way on foot."

Cal Lightman jumped from the truck into the deep snow and tread forward to meet up with his team of agents.

* * *

Gillian closed her eyes to the sensation of Nik's fingers tracing her hairline. She sighed and smiled; surrendered to it so readily that she felt the tightness tugging at her middle.

"Are you cooing?" he asked, a slight chuckle rising through his smile.

She opened her eyes drunkenly, and squinted. "Maybe."

They heard the clicking of the lock in the door to the room and Nixon entered swiftly. He looked down at Nik, at Gillian, and shook his head.

"I'm never going to hear the end of this," he gasped.

"The end of what?" Nik asked releasing his hands from Gillian's face.

Nixon came toward the cot and pulled Nik from Gillian, tugged him by the collar of his shirt. "Say goodbye to Gillian," he said gruffly and pushed Nik toward the door.

"What do you mean _goodbye_?" Nik asked, tension rising; fear spreading though this voice. Bush appeared quickly in the doorway and grabbed him by the arm. "What's going on?" he choked back.

"Help with the truck. Get packing," Nixon stepped toward them threateningly. "Go now!"

Bush tugged Nik by the arm. "Wait!" Nik called out. "What's going on?"

Nixon tugged Gillian by the arm and pushed her toward the door. She looked over her shoulder as he pushed her toward the opposing room at the end of the short hallway. She read the familiar panic in Nik's body as Bush forced him up hollow stairs.

"Ms. Foster and I are going to go have a little chat."

* * *

Cal inhaled deeply as they approached the small wood cabin set amidst a line of evergreens.

The team spread out before him in perfect tactical positioning, leaving Cal and Ben Reynolds behind. They dug themselves under brush, stood behind trees, and lined the cabin perfectly; tucking away, out of sight, dressed in their camouflage. They melted with the snow and waited. The air was still. Not a single sound was heard around them.

Safe, and out of sight, Cal exhaled loudly, and shook his hands anxiously.

_Waiting._

He was never good at it.

* * *

Gillian was pushed forcefully into the room. Equipment cleared, she barely recognised it, searched high and low for familiarity.

The room now had a haunting to it and she wondered what it was, turned her head to the right and saw what was causing it.

A single chair.

A thick rope hung from the ceiling over it, turned on itself in an expert knot.

She gasped as dread spread through her quickly. "No!" she screamed and he pulled her arms behind her as she struggled, forced her chest forward. She felt a familiar feeling tighten around her wrists, heard the zipper sound as the tie wraps clicked into place.

"Oh yes, Gillian," he breathed into her ear. "You didn't think there was a place in all of this for you, did you?" He laughed shrilly and forced her forward.

The muscles in Cal's neck twitched as they waited, and waited, and as he took a step forward, he was pulled quickly back by Ben's tight grasp.

"Lightman," he whispered. "Wait."

There was suddenly movement in the house and the front door opened. Two masked men exited the cabin.

A tall, burly figure in a Barbara Bush mask pushed a smaller man in a John F. Kennedy Jr. mask aggressively down the cabin's wood stairs. The figure in the Kennedy mask shrieked toward the figure in the Bush mask, and was a perfect distraction for his burly counterpart, as the fleet swarmed and expertly took both patrons down in one expertly planned swoop.

The forest returned to silence again; eerily so.

Cal could not wait.

He pushed forward, met up with a team of agents as they swarmed into the cabin quickly.

* * *

Gillian saw the gun holstered at Nixon's side as she was forced to sit on the wood chair. She leaned to the side, shied away from the noose that hung over her head threateningly.

He turned to her quickly placed plastic ties around her feet before she had time to react. She spat at him, made contact with his mask, watched as it rolled down Nixon's cheek.

The hand met the side of her face swiftly and she exhaled, allowed herself a cruel chuckle as the blood pooled in her mouth. She turned again and spat again, hit him in the eyes through the mask's holes.

He hit her again and she fell from the chair to tumble painfully on her side.

"I'm tired of your bullshit, Gillian," he complained, picking her from the floor, throwing her, returning her to the chair.

"Fuck you," she oozed, letting the hatred tumble from her. She spat again.

He removed his mask quickly and threw it to the floor and she met his eyes freely for the first time. Long dark, greasy hair sprang in the air as he jumped toward her, grasped her jaw with one hand. Dark, fiery eyes met her, and he barred his teeth for her. They glistened in the light above them.

"No," he mused, lifting her head so her eyes could meet the thick rope above them. "It's you that's fucked Gillian. This is where it all comes to end."

He smacked her face lightly, playfully, in an attempt to toy with her. He drew himself away and pulled a video camera from the floor to his left. He presented it to her, waved his hand over it like it was a prize.

"I thought maybe you'd want to say something," he said turning on the camera's power, pointing the lens at her. "Maybe something for Cal?"

Gillian glared at the man holding the lens, searing his image into her memory. She sucked her cheeks in and spat toward him again. He jumped from her spray, shaking the camera in his grasp.

"Fuck... you..." she repeated breathing heavily.

The man shook his head and narrowed the lens toward her. "I don't think Cal would like that very much," he gasped. "Come on Gillian, play along."

She remained silent, glared back at her attacker, hatred swallowing her dark blues.

The man nodded slowly and placed the camera on the floor. "I know what's missing from this equation," he said and moved toward her swiftly.

He pulled the rope from the rafters and lowered it. He draped it over Gillian's head, tightened the noose while she squirmed. He lifted her promptly onto the chair, made her stand above him. He quickly tightened the rope against the wall where it was tied tightly.

He stood back, gaped at her and pulled the video camera from the floor again.

"Now that we're in a more compromising position, and you see I mean business," he smiled looking up at her, mocking her fear. "Now do you have something to say to Cal?"

Tears streamed her face and she gasped as the blood trailed her throat, as her lungs sucked for air.

"I'm sorry," she said quickly, looking into the lens. The tightening in her chest was unbearable. "That's its come to this. That I never-" she gasped, choked back the fluid that formed in her. "Never had the guts to tell you what you mean to me. I love you, Cal and I don't think you ever really knew. All those times that I pushed you away, made you fear _the line_. If I had the chance, I'd take it all back."

The man lowered the camera from his shoulder and nodded in agreement. "Now that, that was touching, Gillian. Way to play along." He turned his back to her and lowered the camera to the floor.

She wept profusely and looked toward him, eyes pleading. "Please, I beg you," she gasped. "Leave me; just go! I won't tell anyone anything; you can run. I wouldn't say a thing. I never saw your face! I never knew anything!"

He approached her and placed a foot to the edge of the chair. "Somehow, I don't think that's going to happen."

They both turned their heads to the sound approaching the room; braced themselves as agents swarmed onto them.

He drew his gun and pointed it toward them. He gasped frantically and looked up to see Cal Lightman enter the room, arms flailing.

* * *

"WHOA! WHOA!" Cal screamed entering the room through the small sea of agents. He waved his hands to the side. "Let's just calm down."

He looked up to Gillian who stood, her eyes wide with fright, pleading. She mouthed something but he could not make out what she was saying. His sights quickly fell to the chair she stood on, to the foot that pressed firmly to its edge.

He looked up at Alexei Kovalenko, at the hurt and anger he shot back at Cal. His hand shook on the gun.

"I'd say you have me in a compromising position, Alexei," Cal said calmly, moved slightly from the group of armed agents. "You care to talk?"

Alexei smiled cruelly. "A lot good that will do," he said shaking his gun. "A lot of good it did for my father."

"Your father was a spy son."

"He was innocent."

"Far from it, I'm afraid." He held his hands to the side slowly.

"He was used," Alexei gasped. "A pawn in a game. He never wanted anything from the Soviets. He never wanted anything."

"He sold sensitive material back to his country, son." Cal sighed slightly. "Been doing it for almost as long as you've been breathing air."

Tears ran down Alexei's face, and the hatred shook him slightly. "He was used; was told to do that. Our family left Russia to start a new life here, and you turned on us. You terrorised us; terrorised my mother. Our friends, the people who we thought loved us, turned on us because you made us out to look like criminals!"

Cal was silent; let the emotion run within the young man in front of him.

"And then you left my mother alone, and I watched her fall apart. I watched her slowly fade away until she couldn't hack it anymore. And then she left me and Nik and again, the US government, land of the free and home of the brave, looked down on two little kids with so much spite; you left us with nothing."

Cal took a small step forward and pointed toward Gillian. "Look, mate, I'm sorry for what happened to you, but she's got _nothing_ to do with this."

Alexei shook his head profusely. "No," he waved his gun toward Cal. "She has _everything_ to do with this. She has _everything_ to do with you." He looked around the room nervously. "I want to see you suffer, Lightman, I want you to know what it's like to lose everything. To suffer like my mom, like me and my brother did. I want you to wake up every day and know what real loss is."

"But that's not fair to her, son."

"Life's not fair."

His foot shook and the chair budged, tipped slightly, and Gillian clamoured.

A single bullet rang out through the air, echoed against the empty cement walls; hit Alexei square between the eyes.

The chair rocked slightly and balanced itself back on four legs.

Agents flew in all direction in the room.

Cal flew to Gillian's side and cut the ties at her ankles. His hands trailed her legs to support her weight at her knees. He looked up at her slowly, watched as the colour left her face as Ben cut the ties to her hands. Her hands shot to the rope at her neck and she fumbled with it; fought against her emotions to remove it from around her neck.

She fell limp into Cal's strong arms and she wrapped her legs around him as he brought her gently down with him, to rest on the floor.

She writhed on top of him, clung to him tightly and pulled at his hair. She gasped into his ear, and he relished at the sensation of her warm breath against his skin, at the strong heart beat that pushed against his chest.

"Oh, thank God," he exhaled as he wrapped his arms around her, as he let his hands trail over her, memorising every inch of her body. He soothed himself with the feeling of her weight pressed against him, at the smell of her hair as he buried his face into her neck.

He held her tightly; felt her body shake as the emotions coursed through her. Tears welled in his eyes as her pain tugged at his core.

"It's all right, love," he said, speaking against her neck. "I've got you."

She shook again, and refused to pull from him as her fingers pressed into him. She grazed her fingers over his back in fluid motions in an attempt to crawl further within him. "I want to go home," she choked. She forced the air into her lungs, forced the words to fall from her. "Take me home."

She continued to writhe against him, and he rocked them together slightly.

"Let's get you home."


	12. Coming Home

Shadows moved around them as they huddled together meshed in a tight form. He let her cry, cry until the sound of her breathing returned to normal and his shoulder grew wet from her tears. He stroked her hair, pressed her gently to his body, until the sobs ceased and her hands fell silent against his back.

Cal looked up slightly, saw Ben looking down at him, at them, as they shared their moment of silence unaware of the commotion around them. Ben's brow pulled together and he looked on with quiet remorse, looked to Cal as if he wanted to join them, as if standing by was the closest he'd get to a sense of release.

She was back.

In his arms.

He turned to the side to see that Ben was not the only one caught in his moment with Gillian. A pair of medics squatted by them with large satchels and a backboard. They looked on the pair carefully and made no movement.

Cal rubbed her back and twisted his head to bury his face in her hair again.

"Love," he whispered.

She shifted slightly and clawed his back again gently.

"It's time to go, Gill."

She leaned back slowly and he loosened his grip on her. She inhaled and released it slowly, looked down at his lips unable to meet his eyes. She nodded in agreement. "Okay," she whispered.

He brought warm hands to her face, cupped her cheeks, and turned her in his hands to look her over; battered and bruised.

Her lip curled, quivered as he looked at her and she blinked away tears as she finally met his eyes. He wiped them away before they had a chance to fall and she leaned forward to place her forehead to his.

She breathed hot and heavy against his face, and he closed his eyes again, took the moment within him and let it warm his senses.

"Let's get out of here, yeah?"

* * *

She turned to look behind her, to Alexei who lay slumped, staring with eyes wide-open at the ceiling. She watched as the blood cooled on the cement floor, felt her stomach turn in knots and swallowed the hard lump that formed in her throat.

Cal's warm hands supported her as she stood and the medics jumped up from their crouched position and leaned toward her, ready to spring into action.

"It's okay," she said leaning against Cal. She held out a hand to stop them. "I can walk."

Cal nodded his head toward them and they turned and waited, ready to follow them out.

She looked over her shoulder, saw the familiar form of Ben Reynolds standing by. Unable to say a word, he looked like a boy who had just lost his dog.

"Ben," she whispered as new tears formed.

He stepped gingerly toward her and looked to Cal as if to ask for permission. Gillian stepped away from Cal with shaking knees and let Ben wrap his arms around her. He was sweaty and warm, and his cologne greeted her friendly, memories flooding back to her.

"It's good to see you," she said weakly and curled her head in against him, tightening her light grip on his jacket.

He pulled away from their embrace and held her out from him with strong hands. "It's you we're glad to see," he said, lip shaking.

She smiled slightly and looked up to him. "I'm sure I've looked better."

He smiled wide, teeth showing. "You always look good, Gill." He pressed a thumb to her chin as Cal came to support her. "A few bumps and bruises. But you look tough. I don't want to mess with you, that's for sure."

The trio chuckled slightly and Gillian searched the floor again for Alexei, at the gun that lay by his side. Her sight shifted and she turned her head to look up to the rope above them, but Ben moved closer to her, and blocked her view.

"Ready?" he asked.

* * *

Held firmly against Cal, Gillian moved from the room, and turned from the chaos and commotion. She squinted as she moved toward the natural light that streamed from the first floor down hollow stairs.

With a shaking step, she lifted herself up onto the bottom stair and left the cement floor behind.

Gripped by the strong arm of Cal, her hand supporting her by use of the railing, she climbed slowly; Cal silent by her side.

They entered the daylight and she wobbled in her step, but Cal's arm wound around her fully, supported her without missing a beat. She blinked and opened her eyes, found Cal's worried face beside her.

"I'm okay," she reassured him and moved to walk toward the entry way, a hall she was familiar with.

The crisp, fresh air greeted her lungs as they moved toward the open door and she shivered slightly as the cold hit her skin. They paused at the door and Cal shook his shoulders from his jacket.

She held up a hand, stopped him as he attempted to drape it over her shoulders.

"No," she said softly and turned back to the air inhaling the freshness. "It feels good."

Cal sighed. "For me then, love." He placed the jacket over her shoulders and looked to her socked feet, to the ground, to the white fluffy snow that spread before them. "Will you let me carry you?"

She turned slowly, smiled at him slightly, and looked up at him from under raised brow. "No," she said honestly.

There was shuffling behind them as the medics greeted them. Ben Reynolds gently pushed Gillian and Cal aside. "Give me a sec," he said as he descended the stairs in front of them.

He made his way to a pickup truck parked in front; a vehicle Gillian assumed belonged to the Kovalenko brothers. Ben returned quickly holding a pair of familiar black boots.

"We found these in one of their bags," he told them, placing the boots on the floor in front of her.

She stepped into them and felt the cold of their insoles rise from the soles of her feet.

It felt marvellous.

Ben Reynolds led the way in front of them, reached to hold her hand as she descended the slippery stairs.

Agents cut paths in the snow in front of her; zigzagged as they went about their business. Each set to a task, each focused, no one looked up to watch as Gillian walked by, held tightly to Cal.

Gillian looked out from her hold, toward the backseat of a dark Suburban.

Forehead pressed against the glass, the young man turned his head toward her, meeting her eyes. At once, Gillian recognised the man's chin and she stopped, halting her and Cal toward their destination.

Nikolay Kovalenko turned as best he could with hands cuffed behind his back. His eyes opened as he saw her and a slow content smile spread to his face.

Nikolay Kovalenko looked peaceful, satisfied.

His smile spread and his eyes turned to thin slits as his cheeks rose happily. Gillian cocked her head slowly to the side and returned the gesture, unaware of Cal's interest in the moment.

She put her index finger to her chest and made an 'X' over her heart.

Nik nodded slowly.

Gillian shivered slightly and Cal wrapped his arm tightly around her as they continued their way slowly through the thick snow. She looked around them to take in the trees and imagined how peaceful and quiet it would be to sit and enjoy the scenery.

One medic opened the back of an FBI issued dark van and Gillian froze suddenly.

Cal felt her back stiffen under his palm and he looked down at her and waited. "Gill?"

She looked up at him and blinked, shook her head smiling nervously. "I'm okay," she said and allowed Ben and Cal to lift her into the back of the well lit van. A folded gurney rested against one of its walls. A bench was built into the opposing side. Locked cabinets lined its walls.

The medics helped Gillian within the van and helped her to lie on the gurney. She hesitated but surrendered to their needs as she watched Cal enter the vehicle behind them. He took a seat beside her.

He smiled reassuringly as they went about their business, poked and prodded her. Quietly they worked, synchronized with each other, instantly knowing the next task to perform as if placing pieces in a puzzle.

She kept her eyes on Cal as he watched them; looked to them waiting to hear the reassurance that she was okay.

One of them leaned down to her, his brown eyes meeting hers. "Gillian, we're going to give you a bit of oxygen." He stated.

Not waiting for her to answer, he placed the small mask over her face.

"We're ready to take off," he said warmly. "We're going to strap you down."

She inhaled swiftly and Cal fell to her side, gently linked his fingers with hers.

One of the medics left her side, and moved to the front of the vehicle. She felt the straps tighten around her securely and the rear door close.

The engine turned under them as Cal placed his lips to her temple. He wound his arm under the pillow that supported her head. He rested against her, released her fingers to trail the inside of her palm.

She closed her eyes.

* * *

Cal walked the halls of Montgomery General, the thick soles of his boots beating against long walls. He pushed gently on the door to Room D1013 and entered, slowly sauntered across the room, a pair of scrubs in his arms.

Petite and tranquil, dressed in a hospital gown, Gillian sat atop a bed. A nurse stood by her side and wrapped a cuff around her arm, checked her pulse. Cal followed the line that stuck into Gillian's arm to the IV drip that stood on a portable stand beside her.

Gillian turned her head slowly as if knowing it was him before he stood by her side. With tight lips, she offered him a slight smile and looked back to the cuff on her arm.

The nurse smiled at Cal and removed the cuff and without a word she left them, marking something on a chart by the door.

Cal placed the scrubs on the bed and raised his brow. He looked toward her IV drip. "You have a new friend, I see."

She smiled, teeth showing. "Yeah. Looks like I have to finish this before we leave."

He stepped in front of her, placed his hands carefully to the side of her knees. "We have all night, love."

She inhaled quickly and released it shakily. She looked around the room with wandering eyes.

"Doctor says you're all right," Cal said low, inching forward to lean closer to her. "Few bumps and bruises."

"Yeah." She whispered, voice stolen from her. She looked up with sad eyes, red and puffy. "I'm so tired, Cal."

He leaned forward and she pressed her forehead to his shoulder, turned to rest against the crook of her neck. "It's almost over, love." He looked over her shoulder, trailed his eyes down the column of her back. The hospital gown parted, he resisted the urge to dip his fingers within the fabric, to soothe her tender skin.

Her fingers rested lazily by his hips and he felt her twitch and shift in his embrace.

"Come on," he said lifting away from her. "You should lie down."

He pushed her IV friend as she inched up the hospital bed and he lifted the blankets over her.

She looked over her head to the fluorescent light above the headboard. She winced and he reached over her head to flick it off, sending them into a pleasant darkness.

He sat beside her in a chair provided and reached over, taking her long elegant fingers in his grasp.

She kept her sad eyes on him and blinked slowly.

Cal watched as she fell into a restless sleep.

* * *

Gillian shook from her darkness; at the swirling heaviness of her dream. Drenched in sweat, her thin scrubs clung to her body. She inhaled in quick, shallow breaths as she searched the room for familiarity.

The furniture in the room strange to her, she narrowed her eyes, squinting, made out Cal's recognizable taste. She rested her head back on the pillow and looked to the ceiling, closed her eyes as her breathing subsided and returned to normal.

She pulled the thick sheets from her body and looked down to her medical blues. She rolled her feet over the side of the bed and sat up, braced her hands on the bed as darkness swarmed her sight.

She heard the creeping soft footsteps behind her and turned her head in the direction of the sound. She blinked, made out the hazy figure of Cal Lightman as he approached cautiously.

"Hey," he said soothingly. "You're up." He placed a hand to her back as she looked back down to the floor. "You're drenched. He turned to stand in front of her, placed a palm to her forehead. "You're burning up."

She looked up again as the concern stole his quiet servitude. "I'm fine. Would kill for a shower though."

"Yeah," he replied, skipping from her to his en-suite. He returned quickly, a small white bottle and glass of water in his hands.

She accepted the offering and drank the water, relished as the coolness filled her mouth. She looked up to him, tilted her head back stiffly as he stood close to her.

"Cal," she said coolly.

"Hmm…"

"You're mothering." She looked down ashamed as the sadness came to his face. "I don't need mothering."

"You don't?"

"I don't."

He took the empty glass from her, shifted his weight. "I don't think you have much choice in the matter, love."

Her eyes closed lazily as she shifted her head to the side and stood, reached out to brace her hands against his chest.

"Aie, aie," he exclaimed taking her elbows in her hands, supported her as she stood on two legs.

"I just need a shower." She insisted, releasing her elbows from his grasp. She turned from him to walk toward the bathroom.

Cal watched her closely as she walked gingerly from him, as her hands reached out to brace against the wall. She hesitated at the door, fumbled with the light switch and went inside, closing the door behind her.

Safe in his solitude, Cal sat on the edge of the bed and waited. He let the worry come to his face, let the lines form.

* * *

Gillian opened the shower stall door and turned on the shower taps. She moved her fingers under the spray to test it. The warmth on her fingertips was enticing and she felt a twinge of happiness spread through her. She raised the temperature and watched as the steam began to flood the bottom of the shower stall.

The water hit the bandages that wrapped her wrists and she pulled them back quickly to safety. She perched herself on the toilet seat and closed her eyes.

She was in the cabin, under grim lighting, seated on a thin cot.

She opened her eyes quickly and inhaled the warmth of the shower.

She fumbled with her wrists and pulled at the tape releasing them from the bandages. She held them up to her eyes, could see the skin raised, raw and red; pulled back and delicate.

Thick plastic tie wraps covered them; bound her hands uncomfortably together.

She shook her head and stood, leaned against a nearby wall. She fumbled with her clothing as it pulled from her tired skin. She felt every muscle as she raised her arms over her head. She was drained of adrenaline and surrendering to her weaknesses.

She looked up, saw her reflection in the mirror.

A woman, bruised black and blue, looked back at her; the reflection of a tired woman who had witnessed too much in the last few days. She turned to look at herself and raised her hands to trail them over her skin.

Purple tissue raised on her back and her side. Her face was red and purple; parts of the bruises were beginning to turn yellow and green. She leaned forward and looked closely. Dark and gloomy, even her eyes were unfamiliar to her.

She moved forward with unsteady step and entered the hot refuge.

* * *

_The water hit her in sheets of warmth and she oozed under the water, let it flow down over her tired skin. She felt the ache of her muscles yield to the warmth; felt the stickiness of her sweat pull from her body. She looked down to watch it pass by, encircling the drain._

_She closed her eyes as the steam rose, put her head under the nozzle and felt the warm water trail over her scalp, cleansing her._

_There was shuffling outside the shower but she did not care, did not bother to let it inconvenience her as she felt the anxiety lifting from her body. She rotated her head and felt the water wash over her face, over her parched lips._

_The door to the shower opened and she heard the squeak of its hinges, but she did not move from her warm haven, did not turn to the presence that entered behind her._

_She knew all too well who it was._

_She felt the close proximity as his fingertips hovered near her back. She braced her hands against the wall in front of her and shifted her weight from foot to foot._

_His fingertips made contact with her skin, and she moved slightly backward at the feeling of his hands on her skin._

_He moved forward, placed gentle palms to her back, let his careful touch spread over her tired, sore skin. He lifted his palm, trailed her bruises with gentle touches._

_She cooed under his movements and he drew forward instantly caught in her release. She leaned back, felt the water trail her front, felt him press his body against her._

_He pushed her hair aside and trailed gentle kisses up her long neck. He took her earlobe in his teeth gently and she opened her mouth, surrendered to the gasp that dared to escape._

_The backside of his hands trailed the sides of her body, took their time to trace her lines, the curve of her breasts. A moan escaped her lips, sank heavy in her throat as his hands found her middle; toyed with the flesh by her hips._

_She drew herself forward as he gripped her and she writhed against him, felt him rise under her suggestive movements._

_He turned her swiftly; looked on her with soft eyes as he lifted her leg and pushed her against the tiled wall of the shower stall._

_She opened her mouth and felt the weight of Nik's kiss; felt the air force from her lungs._

* * *

Gillian fell instantly to her knees and felt the warm tile of the shower stall under her fingertips.

There was a rapping and she looked up and blinked, squinted through the steam toward the door as it opened slightly.

"Gill," Cal called out to her. "You okay?"

"Fine, Cal," she choked.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," she raised her voice over the sound of the shower, lifted her hand cautiously toward the slightly parted door. "I'm fine. I'm coming out."

The door remained open and she watched as it rocked slightly.

Please, Cal, she begged silently. Don't.

"Okay," he said. "I'll be right here."

The door closed and Gillian fell to her side and let the water continue to hit her in sheets of warmth. Safe on the floor of the tiled shower, under its steady spray, she could easily mask the tears that lined her face _._


	13. Colourblind

It was a long time before Cal heard the running water stop and the shower door open.

He didn't have the heart to tell her that her sobs were not hidden under the spray of the water, that the tiled walls of the shower stall only echoed her pouring of emotion for him. He didn't have the heart to tell her that her cries caused the deepening of aches within his chest, that it took all his power to resist the urge to run to her and cradle her in his arms.

As much as he didn't want to let himself believe it, Gillian needed her own space; to gain back the sense of dignity that she no doubt, felt was stolen from her.

But Cal didn't have to say anything, for when she emerged some minutes later, snugly in his thick bathrobe, hair in a towel; she knew the torment that plagued his face was caused by eavesdropping.

She looked away from him instantly and moved toward the bed to sit, and folded her legs under her. She pulled the blankets around her as a sense of security, and placed her hands in her lap. She winced as the pressure hit her wrists and he moved to her side without making a sound.

He sat in front of her and opened his hands, palms facing upward.

Without looking up at him, she obliged, and placed her delicate hands within his. She held her hands, hovered them over her lap as he carefully rolled the sleeves of the large robe up her arm. He sighed as he took in her injuries and without hesitation stood and disappeared into his en-suite.

He returned with a first aid kit and set himself to work. His fingertips barely grazed her skin, and she kept her attention on his work, amazed with how steady and fluid his motions played for her; how careful he was with her; how painless it all was.

He soothed, and cooled, and wrapped her wrists carefully, expertly bandaging them without difficulty, and when he was done, he leaned forward taking her hands in his and kissed her knuckles. He leaned forward, inched toward her as a heavy breath suddenly began to stir within her.

He looked at her lips but refrained, mesmerized by the small cut to the side of her mouth. His eyes traced the bruise on her cheek and he felt her breath flood over him, entice him forward.

"Get some sleep, eh," he said softly and placed a tender kiss to her temple.

She exhaled deeply and nodded.

* * *

_Thick digits wrapped around her slender neck and gripped her, pushed on her windpipe with crushing power; forced the air from her lungs._

_Rough hands tugged at her clothing, forced a heavy weight on top of her._

_She struggled to move._

_She struggled to free herself._

_She desperately flailed her arms in front of her and reached out with shaking hands to push against the crushing force._

_Her eyes rolled back as the darkness consumed her._

* * *

The tightness gripped to her chest as she opened her eyes and found darkness. She thrashed and sat upright.

The door to the room opened immediately and she turned frantically toward the bright light, squinted through the harshness that greeted her.

A familiar form moved toward her and climbed onto the bed.

Cal reached forward and felt her forehead, wiped the sweat from her brow.

"It's all right, Gill," he soothed. "You're safe,"

He sat in front of her, and reached forward to pull her toward him. He fought against her pull, grabbed the back of her head to rest against him.

The tightness gripped her chest and she coughed back, pushed against him, not allowing the comfort to spread through her.

"I'm fine," she said, pulled from him, and leaned back, willing her heart to regain a steady beat. She put distance between them, sidling up the bed to rest against his headboard. "You need to stop that," she revealed honestly.

"What?" he asked.

"Looking at me like I'm going to break."

"I'm sorry."

She scoffed.

"What?"

"I don't want to hear it."

He lowered his voice and released it soothingly. "You won't let me hold you, will you?"

She looked down at her hands, played nervously with her fingers. "No," she returned flatly.

He lowered his head. "Okay then."

She inhaled quickly turned to him letting the sadness take over her face. "I'm a mess, Cal." The sorrow stole her breath and she choked back the lump in her throat. "I know what you want, but I can't ..."

He pressed his lips together and inched forward to sit close to her. "All I want is you safe, and you are."

"I don't feel it." Her eyes grew wide, shocked by her own honesty. "I know you want to hold me."

His eyes softened on her and he played carefully with the palm of her hand. "That I do, love."

"I'm sorry that you can't." She pushed herself into the blankets and turned on her side. "My head; it's a mess."

"You've been through a lot, Gill," his voice lowered to a whisper. "Don't try to make it out to be anything less."

She sniffed and he pulled the duvet over her shoulder tucking her within the warmth. He trailed his fingers along her hair line, pulled a few strands of light brown hair back from her face.

"Will you tell me what's going through that pretty head of yours?"

"No," she replied low.

He continued to run his hands through her hair and her eyes fluttered for only a moment, but the tension in her shoulders shook her and her eyes sprung open again.

His brows pulled together as he looked on her in her torment. "You're tense, Gill," he said running fingers down her neck to rest a palm flat against her shoulder. "I wish there was something I could do."

The tears formed in her eyes and she released them unwillingly. "You can't," she cried. "I'm so sorry, Cal."

"Hey," he sighed. He lowered himself to rest beside her, gently resting a hand across her body. "You have nothing to be sorry for."

"I'm a mess."

"You're not."

"You don't know."

"Help me."

"I can't," she cried.

He leaned forward to press his lips to her forehead. "Shhh," he soothed. "It's all right. Just let it be."

He looked down, watched as she took a few shaking breaths.

"I'm so tired of crying," she said openly, blinking away new tears. "I want this to stop."

"Me too love," he said leaning forward to place her head under his chin. "Me too."

* * *

Agents mulled in Cal's living room; tying up loose ends, cleaning up the high tech equipment, placing it back into bags thick black canvas.

Cal sat alone, slumped in his dining room chair; watched the shadows move across his vision. He was transfixed on the laptop in front of him. His hand hovered, shook over the keys. As the video played for him, the remorse coursed, ran fluid like liquid.

Her face; the pain, the fear even as she said the words.

_I love you, Cal..._

Cal brought his hand to his mouth and leaned back.

_If I had the chance, I'd take it all back._

"Wow. Someone could use some rest."

Ben Reynolds sidled up to Cal where he sat. He slumped in a chair opposite him and rested his arm on the table.

"Yeah, I've been worse for wear." Cal blinked a few times and shook his head.

Ben watched as the corners of Cal's eyes drooped, as his lips pressed tightly together.

Ben lowered his eyes to his hands. "How many times have you watched it?"

Cal leaned forward and closed the laptop. "A few."

Ben looked up and raised an eyebrow. "Suppose I don't have to tell you the obvious."

"And what's that?"

"That you don't need to watch that video. You've known all along."

Cal was silent, looked down to the closed laptop. "She says she's a mess, yeah? Says there's nothing I can do for her."

"It'll take some time..."

"She's always the emotional stable one, yeah? The one keeping me in check, and all." He brought his hands to his face. "I'm bloody lost."

"Go to her."

"She won't even let me near her," he returned, lip curling.

Ben nodded slowly, realisation stirring within him.

"Wha?" Cal asked, looking out from his hands.

Ben leaned forward and lowered his voice. "Have you read her statement? Have you heard her story?"

"Nah," he said flatly. 'Thought it best to hear it from her."

Ben stood from his chair and placed a hand on Cal's shoulder. "I suggest you read it."

* * *

Cal looked up from the folder to the sound of his front door opening, a familiar voice in his front hall. Tears in his eyes, he stood from the table and moved quickly toward the sound of approaching small footsteps.

"Dad!" Emily yelled as she saw him. Still dressed in her boots and jacket, she ran to him, jumped up slightly to embrace him in a tight hug.

"What are you doing here, love?" he asked closing his eyes as he buried his face in his daughter's familiar scent.

"I got a flight as soon as I heard," she revealed, squeezing her arms around his shoulders.

They held the embrace and Cal relished in the joy that coursed through him.

_His Em..._

"You should have called me," Cal breathed into her hair. "I would have come to get you."

"I did," she revealed softly. "Ben sent someone to get me."

She pulled back from him and drew a piece of hair from her sweaty brow. She looked over his face, instantly reading the remorse he attempted to hide from her. "What?" she questioned. "You didn't want me home?"

"No, never," he said shaking his head, pulling her forward into a quick hug.

Her voice was muffled against his chest. "I thought you might need me."

He ran his hands over her back and pulled back slowly. "Always."

Emily shook from her coat and slowly turned to him, avoiding contact with the team of agents leaving through their front door.

"How is she?" she whispered, reaching forward to take his arm in her slender hand.

Cal grimaced and looked toward the open folder on his table. He wrestled with himself, with whether he would attempt to feed Emily the harsh truth or sugar coat it for her. He turned back to her; saw the concern in the young woman she had become.

"She's in a rough spot, love," he revealed and leaned to kiss her forehead.

Emily's mouth fell open. "What can we do?"

Cal wrapped an arm around her as he looked to his front door, at the entourage leaving them in a comfortable silence.

"We'll have to be here for her," he said low. "When she wants us to be, yeah?"

He pulled back cupped her face in his hands.

"Can I see her?"

Cal offered her a slight smile, cheek bones rising. "Not sure if now's the time, darling."

She nodded slowly, turned from him, grabbed her luggage from the floor and ascended the stairs.

* * *

Ben Reynolds and Cal Lightman stood silent by the front door of his house.

They looked around them, silently remarking to one another on how the Lightman home was finally beginning to regain the sense of peace that had been stolen from it.

Ben smiled shyly and reached out offering his hand. "Well then..."

Cal's brow stitched together and he drew forward taking Ben in a tight hug. They stood for a time, neither one of them wishing to end their quiet moment.

"We'll talk later?" Ben asked looking down at Cal as they drew apart.

Cal shoved his hands in the pocket of his jeans and looked to the floor. "Yeah. Will do."

Ben sighed pressing his lips tightly together. "You know, there is something you could try."

Cal looked up, curiosity spreading across his face.

"Have you changed?"

Cal raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, and showered."

Ben smiled warmly. "Your shirt from earlier? Where is it?"

"What are you getting at here, mate?" Cal asked leaning toward him.

Ben took his keys from his pocket and looked down as he toyed with them in his hands. "I'm saying, maybe you don't smell like you." He looked up to see the sceptical look from Cal. "Look, it's just a suggestion. It works for lost puppies that are separated from their mothers."

"She's not a puppy, mate."

The lines from Ben's face fell and his eyes softened. "No, but she might be lost."

* * *

Cal turned his head to the sound of soft footsteps nearing his spare bed.

"Dad?" came the foggy voice of Emily.

He rubbed a hand over his eyes and pulled himself to rest on his elbow. "What's up, Em?"

"It's Gillian."

Cal strained to hear the soft sobs coming from down the hall. He sighed and drew his legs over the side of the bed.

Running a hand over his bare chest, he reached down to pick up his discarded shirt from earlier. Lifting it over his head he inhaled; his cologne and sweat mingled together.

Emily waited by the door to the spare bedroom; anxiety tracing her features.

Cal greeted her and placed a hand to her back. "It's all right, Em," he soothed. "Go back to bed, love."

He lightly walked his hallway, looked over his shoulder to watch Emily hesitate at her door and then disappear within the darkness.

He pushed lightly on the door to his bedroom and closed it behind him.

He could barely make out Gillian's curled form hidden beneath heavy sheets. She sobbed cruelly, and it shook her body. She fought for air, gasped between sobs.

Without hesitation, he pulled back the sheets carefully, to find her; arms covering her head. He crawled within the sheets and placed a hand on her shoulder, pulled in close to wrap around her.

It wasn't long before he felt her arms move and her fingers reach forward to tug lightly at his shirt. He uncurled from her as she came out of her position; her hot breath made contact with his skin.

He did not move beside her. He kept his hands silent on her as she slowly came forward to press in tightly against him.

She unfurled for him; moved her head to rest under his chin, face forward, nose buried in his shirt. He felt the tears soak his chest, felt the weight of her breath on him.

His face contorted as she continued to cry, and he closed his eyes as her fingertips clawed around to grip his side.

"Oh, Cal," she whispered and he leaned back to place his lips to her forehead.

"I've got you, Gill," he soothed. "Let it out; it's okay."

She pushed her brow against him, grazed against the scruff of his chin. He felt her tears against his face, her hot breath as she regained her breathing.

"They're haunting me," she sighed, sniffed as more tears formed. "I close my eyes, I see them."

He cupped her face carefully and lowered his voice to a whisper. "I wish I could take them away."

Her face contorted and she leaned in against him; heavy against his chest.

"You've been through a lot, love," he whispered. "In such a short time."

"You've read the report? My statement?"

"Yeah."

Memories flooded back to her. The snow. The cabin. The masks. Her attack.

_Nik..._

He read her fear instantly; felt the tension in her shoulders as her back straightened.

"I wish you'd tell me what's going on in there," he said kissing her forehead. He looked down and met her eyes. "Give me a clue what's tormenting you."

"I can't."

He nodded slowly as she looked away from him. "Is this about Nikolay? Nik?"

She froze and swallowed shallowly.

"He meant a lot to you."

She swallowed and nodded slowly. "He saved me," she choked.

"On more than one occasion, yeah?"

Her face contorted as new tears began to release.

He reached up again, cupped her face carefully in his palm. "I am so grateful for him. For everything he did for you."

She blinked, exhaled hot breath on him.

"But just don't write him off Gill," Cal whispered softly. "Let's not pretend this is something it isn't."

Her brow came together as her eyes darkened. "Don't say it," she warned.

"What?" he replied calmly. "Stockholm Syndrome? Cause it's what it is, love."

She shook her head.

He lowered himself to rest by her face, made her look him in the eyes. "You had no choice. You had to protect yourself. You needed it. You needed him."

"I know."

He offered her a slight reassuring smile. "Then what is it?"

"In my head-," she choked back, breathed heavily and forced the words through. "I should be gravitating toward you, but I'm not. I can't stop thinking about him." Her face twisted in knots and she sobbed again, ashamed of her frankness with him.

He ran a hand carefully on her back. "Don't rush this, love. I'm here when you need me."

"I'm so sorry."

"Shh," he whispered. "It's all right. I can be very patient."

"Liar."

He chuckled softly and leaned in to place his lips close to her ear. "I've waited this long for you; I can wait a bit more." He kissed her cheek and licked his lips; salty and sweet.

She reached up to touch his face and lifted her eyes. "I love you, Cal." She hesitated, close to his lips.

"I know love," he replied, closed his eyes as her scent swept over him. "I love you too." He smiled as he said the words; parted his lips slowly. "You know you're my girl, right?"

She pressed her thumb against his bottom lip. "I do." She stared at his lips, licked her own; hesitation in her features.

His eyes softened on her. "Can I kiss you now?"

She nodded slowly and he leaned in, closed the inches between their lips. She inhaled as they made contact and he felt her tremble as more tears lined her face.

He pulled away to watch her blink away the tears. "Can I stay with you?" he asked.

She opened her eyes and shook her head slightly. "I'm sorry."

He leaned forward and placed his lips to her forehead. "No worries, love. I'll be down the hall if you need me."

He went to move, to roll away from her, but she reached forward to take his t-shirt in her grasp. He turned back to her.

"Before you go..."

He leaned down to her. "Yeah?"

"Can I have this?" She pulled the fabric toward her gently.

"You want my shirt?"

"I do," she breathed. "It smells good."


	14. Release

Cal rolled over in his spare bed. He squinted through the darkness, toward the door, and he heard it close softly. He barely heard her soft footsteps as she tread across plush carpeting toward him.

The sky was lit by white clouds of snow, and through the dim light that streamed in from outside, he could make out her slender form.

He pulled back the sheets sleepily, expecting her to take up residence beside him, but she hovered by the edge of the bed and he heard her breathing heavily.

"Gill?" he whispered groggily. "You all right, love?"

He made out her hands moving in the darkness, heard the ruffling of fabric on her skin as she lifted his shirt from her body, exposing her silhouette for him. She kneeled forward onto the bed and inched forward balanced on her knees.

He slowly sat for her and supported himself with a locked elbow. He could hear her crying softly and felt her breath ragged on his face as he leaned toward her.

Unaware of what to do, he trailed her silver lit figure carefully, and looked up to find her eyes closed. She rasped, leaned forward to place a wet cheek against him, nuzzling gently. "Touch me," she begged, bringing her mouth to his ear, to trace hot, ragged breath against his lobe.

He obliged and brought his hand to her face, wiped the tears that fell steadily. He drew his hand through her hair; let long strands of golden brown pass through them. She exhaled deeply as his fingers greeted her neck, trailed her soft shoulders, grazed lightly down her arms.

He was gentle as he took her hands in his, turning it to place a careful kiss to her palm.

She drew quick breaths and opened her eyes to meet him. She reached for his face and pulled him toward her, and he lifted himself on his knees.

She took his lips gently, lips that had once greeted her playfully, at a time when her heart hadn't ached for him. She felt him part his lips against her; sadness gripped his motions.

"Please," she cried taking his mouth hungrily this time. "Make it stop."

He groaned as she climbed on top of him, straddling. She ground her weight into him, felt him rise under her.

"Gill," he sighed into her mouth, warm as her tongue wrapped around his.

He opened his eyes as she kissed him, blurrily made out the tears that lined her face. "Please Gill..." he gasped, as her hands wound into his hair. "Please, Gill, I can't."

She continued to run her tongue around his mouth, searching heavily. She pulled back to look him in the eyes as her hands trailed from his shoulders down his chest, and she returned to their kiss, moved to expose her long slender neck for him, inviting him forward.

He obliged to her direction, and kissed, sucked, tongued her gently as he moved down her neck. He trailed fingertips along her collar, over her shoulders.

When his finger had passed over her skin, he followed it, lined her with kisses.

She shuddered as the warmth began to take hold of her body and she felt the familiar enticement grip her middle, instantly instructing her body forward.

She found the band of his boxers and dipped her fingers under the elastic, found him moist and hard against her fingertips. She gripped him swiftly, before he had time to reach her hands.

"Gillian," he released weakly against her lobe. "Is this what you want? Now?" He groaned into her hair as she wrapped her dexterous fingers around him, tugged him upward. "Oh God," he released.

She writhed on top of him, fought for position as she placed him long and thick under her. She lowered herself wet and hot for him, and she moaned sadly as rubbed her body against him. "I want you," she said weakly, and ground her hips above him.

The weight of her was beginning to sit heavily on his knees, and he shifted. She gripped to him tightly, afraid he would push her off.

He trailed his hands up her thighs to grip her ass, which pushed her forward, to continue her steady motions on him. He touched her face, found her lips, her tongue which flicked for him. He pulled back to trail a palm down her neck, down between her breasts.

Her eyes met him. Wide, dark; she was hungry for release.

She inhaled shakily as he pressed a palm to her flat stomach, stopped her motions as his thumb dipped between her wet folds to rub against her sensitive clit. She released her breath heavily and moaned as she leaned back. He placed a hand quickly to her lower back and helped her to lie gently on the bed.

Her legs fell weakly to rest on either side of him as she surrendered to his movements. He stroked her gently with his thumb, looked up at her body as she trembled slightly. He attempted to read her in the darkness.

He dipped a finger inside her, stroked her gently before placing a second within her. Her breathing was thickening, was more fluid as she gasped above him.

He pulled a pillow from the top of the bed and placed it under her hips quickly, before she had time to oppose. He dipped his fingers within her again and placed a palm flat to her pelvis, and pushed down gently.

She moaned as he stroked within her; amazed with how he found her instantly, without the direction from her hips. She panted above him as she reached to grip the sheets, grappled without reason, until she found her breasts.

The fire gripped her suddenly that her head flicked back. She arched her back forcefully.

He removed his fingers from her slowly and dipped his head to kiss her abdomen. She moved to sit up but he trailed his hands up her side, instructing her to lie back.

She fought to regain her breath and she ran her fingers through her hair, mesmerised by Cal's tongue as he traced over her middle, kissed her gently. She was taken aback as his tongue dipped between her folds suddenly. He wrapped his lips around her and sucked her gently.

She forced her legs up suddenly, knees heavy and tired, and her hand gripped his hair. Her breath altered and a moan seized in her throat; sensitive within his lips.

He gripped her knees, guided her legs with his hands to rest on his back, as he continued skilfully. His movements were slow and her moans were needy, and the orgasm hit her slowly, rolled over her body. She panted as her legs rolled from his body.

He leaned forward and placed his ear to her chest, lowered his weight on her gradually.

She forced her arms to hold him; pressed her nails into his back lightly, as she willed the calm to push through her consciousness.

He shifted his head, looked up above her breast to the bruise, the sizeable bite mark that resided. He trailed gentle fingertips over it, and when she looked down at him and his movements, he pulled himself up to place a kiss over the mark.

She ran her hands through his hair, and for the first time in awhile, looked on him with dry eyes.

He made a small sound at the back of his throat and he rolled from her, tucking an arm under her skilfully, to take her with him. He held her by his side and leaned over to pull the blankets over them.

She pulled herself up to meet his lips and she kissed him passionately, slowly. Their tongues writhed together in their mutual warmth and her hands began to trace circles on his skin, found the waistband of his boxers again.

"Gill," her name released as easily as breath.

Her fingers moved on him and she gripped him, adept to the task at hand.

It was his turn to breathe erratically on her skin, and she watched his face, the creases that formed as he moaned slightly. She worked meticulously and shivered against him.

He pulled her hands from her work and drew them to his chest. "C'mere love," he soothed, and rolled toward her to rest on his side.

"I'm not finished," she whispered against his ear. "I want you."

"Soon, love."

"No," she kissed him and licked her lips. "Now." She lowered her hand again to grip him.

He sighed as she lifted her leg over him, pressing him against her opening.

"Drop the kid gloves, Cal," she instructed. "I'm not going to break."

He took her mouth, pressed into her gradually, and she wrapped around him, wet and warm. She cooed against him, and he leaned forward to hold her tightly, buried his nose in her hair, and nipped her neck.

She shuddered as he pushed within her slowly, and she clenched her muscles around him. She felt another shiver course through her as she reacted to his tenderness.

He kissed her again and their teeth clashed with mouths wide open. He tightened his grip on her as he felt the familiar numbness rise within him. He bent his head to kiss her neck as her leg tightened around him.

* * *

She melted against him as her skin cooled, as his warm hands trailed her backside. Her arm draped across his chest.

"That's better," he whispered, smiling in the darkness.

"What's better?"

He pulled the hair from her face, continued to run his hands through her hair. "You're not tense anymore."

She looked up from his chest, pressed her chin into him. A wide smile spread across her face and he mirrored her, warmed by her gift.

Her brow came together gradually. "What?" she asked quizzically.

"It's so bloody brilliant to see you smile, love."

* * *

They were quiet for a time; pressed against one another, lost in each other's gentle breathing.

His hands grew silent on her back and she drifted easily into a weightless dream

"Cal," she whispered, stretching beside him.

A soft grunt gripped his throat and he rolled on his side to meet her, pulled her into him tightly. Eyes still closed, he kissed her forehead.

"Cal," she repeated. "I don't want to go home tomorrow."

He opened his eyes and blinked slowly. "You don't have to."

"I want to stay with you."

He smiled and kissed her slowly. "Then you'll stay." He traced a tender line along her shoulder. "There is one problem."

"What's that?"

He leaned forward and kissed her bare shoulder. "You have a serious lack of clothing."

She chuckled softly against him and curled her head under his.

"Gill?"

"Yeah."

"You can stay, but I have one request."

She rolled out from under his chin and looked up at him. "What's that?"

"Can we go back to my room? This bed is unbelievably uncomfortable."

She leaned forward smiling, and pressed her forehead to his chest. "I thought you'd never ask."


	15. Closer

She awoke to the sound of running water and opened her eyes slowly, smiled as she saw the sunlight streaming in from Cal's bedroom window. He emerged in seconds, a towel in his hands, and she rolled over between smooth sheets to greet him with a sleepy smile. She blinked slowly, took in the sight of him; his dishevelled look, his jeans, his typical black t-shirt.

Memories of their night spent together, her need, her hunger, struck her heavily, and she felt the blush flush her cheeks. The image of their bodies moving in the darkness, so vivid, so surreal.

He smiled down at her as he moved toward the bed and she had to look away from the unfamiliar Cal presented to her. There was something in the way he swayed toward her, something more in his carefully placed steps, something that felt like home.

"Morning, love," he greeted as he knelt on the bed and sidled up to her.

"Hi," she said, a hint of nervousness showing in her tone.

He leant forward, placed a gentle kiss to her bare freckled shoulder where it protruded from Egyptian cotton. "Did you sleep any?"

"I did," she said unable to meet his gaze.

"I've drawn you a bath," he said happily, tucking his fingers under the sheets that rested against her. He pulled them down carefully exposing her freckled back to him. Small bruises appeared in the sunlight and he leant forward again, kissed each one carefully. He smoothed his hand over her back, placed his cheek to rest flat against her.

"I heard," she remarked and rotated to rest fully on her belly. "There had better be bubbles."

He smiled against her and lowered the sheets to rest around her hips. He placed another kiss to the small of her back and moved to rest beside her. He left his hands to trail on her backside; he grazed them carefully over her sides, left behind gentle reminders of his fingertips on her skin.

She wiggled under his touch and giggled against her pillow.

"Ticklish?" he asked, lingering his movement against her sides.

"Yes," she giggled, and rotated toward him.

He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her forehead as she rest against him, as she allowed herself a moment of relief and closed her eyes. The softness of his t-shirt against her bare chest felt marvellous in their quiet moment; the sound of his breathing the only thing she could hear in the stillness.

Concrete, touchable images began to trace across her mind as she let her body rest against him.

How quickly she had yearned for him. How she longed to be touched by him, to be taken by him. How he seemed to know every inch of her perfectly as if he were following a map. How he knew exactly how to touch her, which places to linger.

She had come to him heatedly; had given him no choice, had given him little chance to surrender.

And as if knowing instantly what ran through her troubled mind, his hands grew quiet against her back and she heard his long intake of breath.

"Should we talk about it?" he asked her suddenly, shaking her from her reverie.

"Must we?" she asked groggily. Her words seemed to linger in the air.

"Nah, love." His hands moved on her again, offered relief in his soothing touch which her skin now seemed to crave. He reached to her waist, pulled the blankets upward to cover her completely.

"Good." She sighed as he covered her. "Unless of course you want to talk about it."

He moved from her carefully and lowered himself so that his face was beside her. "No need, Gill," he offered. "I'm just happy to see you smile again."

She smiled warmly and he leant forward and pressed his lips to her gently. She closed her eyes instantly, warmed by his gift, and she instantly remembered they way his touch lingered on her skin, the way she clung to him, begged him for release. She groaned, and it emitted from the base of her throat, automatic as it vibrated through her, pushed her onward to reach for him, to press her palms against his side. She clutched the fabric of his shirt as his tongue wrapped around hers. He moaned and pushed her back gently, brushing a final soft kiss against her lips to slow her actions.

"Mmm," he uttered. "Going to suck me in there with you, eh?"

She smiled. White teeth gleamed at him. "I'm trying."

"You're doing a bloody good job, love." He pressed his fingertips against her cheek, trailed a line slowly along her neck to rest just above the curve of her breast.

She arched her back, and pushed herself against his hand as he hesitated and pulled away from her heated motions. He took her in a tight hold instead and pressed his body against her. He groaned and his lips found the delicate flesh of her neck just below her ear. He pressed his teeth into her, held on tightly as she squirmed and giggled. His lips softened on her skin. He suckled gently.

Her hands found his belly and she pressed him with open palms, creeped within his jeans.

"Stay with me," she cooed. "You want to stay don't you?"

He groaned again, and lifted from her body to look in her eyes. Dark and inviting, they gleamed with anticipation.

He reached between them, withdrew her hand from her skilled work. "There'll be plenty of time for that." He brought her hand to his face, pressed her open palm against his scruffy cheek. She pressed her fingertips against him, lifted her head from the pillow to kiss him again.

"I hope so," she whispered, and for a quick moment he saw it; read a new sadness in her eyes.

She blinked and her heated gaze was gone. Her hand fell from his face.

His brow furrowed and he exhaled quickly, unsure if he were to demand to know the secrets she kept from him. He smiled, lips tightly together, and lifted himself from her, leaving behind a hurried kiss to her shoulder.

He hopped from the bed in one motion, and reached the door in two bounds. He pulled a robe from behind the en-suite's door and presented it to her with exaggerated motions. He placed it on the bed at her feet.

"Your bath awaits."

* * *

She surrendered to the heat of her surroundings, to the sloshing as the water splashed against the deep walls of Cal's jacuzzi tub. She had requested bubbles, and Cal had delivered as promised. Besides the sound of the sloshing water, the bubbles which fizzled, she was surrounded by quiet.

He had dimmed the lights in the en-suite low, had lit a few candles for her. The room glowed with a peaceful ambiance.

The quiet allowed her to drown in her own thoughts, allowed the memory of the past few days to tumble back uninvited, no matter how hard she had tried to suppress it.

She willed all the hits, the bruises, the tears, to melt into the water, melt away into nothingness. Memories of Nik's hands on her, the way his caring eyes seemed to know her, seemed to comfort her throughout the ordeal.

She racked her brain, thought long and hard to find a moment when she wished that it was Cal instead of Nik. She had so easily succumbed to Nik's comforts, to the safety he provided.

And he had saved her, on more than one occasion.

But when had she longed for Cal's arms to hold her tight?

She was a woman who prided herself in her strengths, her tough backbone. So how had she so easily surrendered to Nik; allowed his touch to linger on her tired, broken body?

She felt the tears return to her eyes, groaned and lifted herself into a sitting position. "Dammit!" she gasped as she wrapped her arms around her legs. She let the tears sting her eyes, even as she willed them away.

She heard the light rapping on the door, felt the change in air as he entered without invitation. She recognised the soft sound of his feet as he padded across the tile to kneel by the tub's side.

She knew his familiar smell, and did not bother to look up as he reached out to touch her wet shoulder. He found the back of her neck, braced her while she cried softly.

When she had quieted, his hand worked down her back, reached under the bubbles to draw warm water over her cooling skin. He repeated the motion until she turned to him, eyes bloodshot, drained of their radiance.

His lip curled. His brow furrowed with concern.

"You wanna be alone?" he asked her softly.

She smiled weakly. "No, stay," she said. "It's nice." She closed her eyes, was taken by the sound of the water tracing over her skin.

She opened her eyes suddenly and he leant forward as he watched her lip curl.

"I'm sorry about last night, Cal," she choked.

"Nah." He shook his head. "Don't be."

"I feel like I used you," she confessed and reached up to wipe her face. "If... I hadn't..."

He leant over, placed a kiss to her freckled shoulder. She was warm and soapy under his lips. "Don't, love. Don't do this."

"I'm a mess, Cal."

"You're beautiful."

"I'm a mess."

"A beautiful mess then." He smiled wide, barred a goofy grin for her. He searched her face, waited for her to turn to him. "You did nothin' wrong, right, and you, you didn't use me. Not possible." She shook her head and he reached forward to touch her chin, turned her toward him. "I have never, never in my whole life, been as scared as I was these past few days. Just having you here..."

"I'm so sorry," she choked as she released new tears. "I don't know if I can do this."

He lifted himself on his knees, leant forward to wrap his arms around her. He kissed the top of her head as the sleeves on his t-shirt grew wet. "It's all right, Gill," he soothed. "It's too soon. It's a lot. I mean a lot, a lot." He pressed his face against her hair, inhaled. "Just you safe. That's all that matters."

"I know where I want us to be... what I want us to be," she choked. "But..."

He bent his head low, felt her breath on his face. "Hey now," he soothed. "We'll get there."

"But when?"

"When it's right. When you want to be there." She stroked her wet hair that had matted to her face. "This isn't somethin' to be worrying 'bout now. You don't need to fight this."

"But will it be enough?" she asked him, tension rising in her voice. "That's what I'm worried about."

"Look..." He sighed carefully, looked on her as her eyes searched him frantically. "All I know is, life... It's 'bout taking chances, you know, taking the leap. And you to me, love, you are so bloody worth it."

She looked up at him sullenly, sniffed quietly as a tear clung to her chin. "And if you have to wait?"

He smiled and softened his voice. "Forever and a day."

It was the answer she needed to reach up and take him by the shirt, pulling him downward. The water splashed around her as he disappeared amidst a heap of bubbles to rest with his back against her chest. Her arms wrapped tightly around him as they waited for the water to settle.

"Comfortable?" she asked as she pressed her cheek against him, clutching him tightly.

"Not really, love," he laughed. "But I can't complain." The water now filled his lower half. "Warm in here, eh?"

He turned his head toward her and she bent her head low to take his lips. When they parted, he saw the remnants of the worry still on her face.

"You don't need to categorize this, Gill," he reassured her. "It is what it is."

"And what's that?"

"You're my girl, Gill. Plain and simple. Always have been." He searched her eyes. "And without you, my bloody world fell apart."

She was glad he couldn't see her face as the pain gripped her. He only felt it within the arms that she held him with and he reached up to hold her hands against him.

"We'll help him, love. I'll do everything in my power to."

He did not need to speak his name, and in their quiet confines she was glad he hadn't. She knew exactly who he meant.

"Thank you," she whispered, entwined her fingers in his own.

He turned slightly, looked on her as she watched how the candle light played with the lines on her face in the steamy haze of the bathroom.

"I owe him, Gill," he said low. "I owe him so much more."

She gripped his chest as she bent her head slightly to place a kiss against his temple. They watched as the candle light danced around them, listened as the bubbles popped one by one.

"You know," he said after a time. "We can't stay in here forever."

"No?"

"No." He braced against the sides of the tub, lifted himself from her. "Besides I've made you breakfast." The water drained from his clothing to pool on the floor at his feet.

"You have?" she asked, unable to hide the hint of worry in her tone.

He narrowed his eyes on her as he opened a white fluffy towel for her. She stepped out of the tub, into his awaiting arms. "Wha? It's a right proper breakfast."

"Not beans on toast, then?"

Cal pulled back from her. " _And_ what's wrong with beans on toast?"

* * *

Hair wrapped in a towel, snug in Cal's giant white robe, felt the change in temperature as she stepped from the en-suite. She approached the freshly changed bed.

Washed and pressed, he had laid out her clothing for her. She was touched by the offer, even more amazed that Cal, with his bland sense of style, knew how to press pants. She looked down on her muted grey suit spread out for her, instantly remembering the weight of the garment on her body, the texture of it against her skin. Her lip curled, her nose wrinkled, and made the conscious decision to never wear the suit again.

Instead she took soft padded steps across Cal's bedroom to his mahogany chest of drawers and opened the first large drawer she could reach. She looked within, was greeted with countless black t-shirts and smiled. She ran her palms over the soft fabric.

She opened a second drawer pulled out a pair of thick cotton jogging pants. A lower drawer revealed a thick hooded, grey sweater. She unfolded the sweater and held it up. Across the front in large black letters she read, "CAL". She smiled and closed the drawer.

Warmed and comforted by the sweats, she descended the stairs to the delightful smell of food. She felt her stomach turn merrily toward the smell, recognized the sizzling, the smell of bacon in the air.

Oh god, she thought. Bacon!

Her mouth immediately watered as she took the final step down the stairs, entering the bright light of the kitchen. Cal turned at the sound of her footsteps as they made contact with the tiled floor.

Dressed in a floral apron, greasy spatula in his hand, he smiled as he took in her appearance, nodded approvingly at her sweater.

She moved to stand beside him, looked down on the pans in front of him, amazed at the volume of food presented to her. He worked meticulously, each pan having a precise level of heat. Timing, Gillian noticed, was of most importance.

"Hungry?" he asked her.

"Famished," she exclaimed.

He smiled and nodded. He took her by the shoulders and lead her to the table, pulled out a chair for her to sit. "That's good," he said as he gently helped her into her seat. "Cause it's a right proper English breakfast."

"Oh?"

"Fried eggs, sausage, bacon, mushrooms, grilled tomatoes, hash browns, toast..." he turned from her and she watched as he dished her out a plate. He piled the food quickly, turned back to her licking his thumb. In his other hand, he carried a pot of tea.

He placed the plate in front of her and her mouth watered again at the sight.

"Can't forget the beans of course," he kissed the top of her head. "Put hair on your chest."

She chuckled softly.

"Missing the black pudding, I'm afraid," he remarked as he turned from her. "Em never liked the stuff."

At the sound of her name, Emily emerged from around the corner, smiled at the sight of Gillian sitting at the table.

"It's cause it's gross," she said raising her brow. "Do you know what's in that stuff?"

She slumped into her chair, looked across to Gillian and smiled brightly. "Morning, Gill."

Gillian mirrored her smile. "Good Morning Emily."

Cal approached swiftly, placed a full plate in front of his daughter and kissed her on the head. "Extra hash browns, eh?"

Emily looked up as her father sat. "Thanks, dad."

Hands folded in her lap, Gillian looked from Emily to Cal and smiled. Cal met her eyes, raised his eyebrows.

"Don't wait, love," he reassured forking a sausage brining it to his lips. "Eat up."

She reached for the bacon first, closed her eyes as it entered her mouth, made contact with her tongue. She couldn't remember bacon ever tasting so good.

She opened her eyes, saw Cal and Emily's watchful eyes on her and blushed. "What?" she asked, voice shaking with nervousness.

Cal looked to Emily and then back to her. "Good, love?"

Gillian reached for another piece. "God yes!" she exclaimed.

Emily and Cal chuckled simultaneously and Gillian heard the similarity in their voice pitch, the familiarity of the sound. She paused in her chewing, relished in the pleasant sound, the unison of their voices; father and daughter. When the moment was over, Cal continued to shovel food into his mouth. He swallowed large bites of toast and egg.

She reached forward, took the teapot and poured herself a cup. She looked up to see Emily watching her movements. Emily eyes took in Gillian's ruffled look, the bruise that lined her cheek.

Cal noticed it too, paused mid-chew, and with mouth full ordered, "Right, Em. Out with with then."

Emily blinked and turned to her father. "What?" she asked innocently. She smiled, turned back to Gillian who had placed her hands back in her lap. "I like having you here, Gill."

Cal continued chewing slowly. He worked the food in his mouth and turned with a smile to Gillian who was unable to hide the blush spreading through her cheeks.

Gillian smiled warmly. She brought her teacup to her lips. "I like being here too, Em."


	16. Hope

The tap made the familiar noise as Gillian turned on the water to her shower. She placed her hand under the spray to test the temperature and waited for the water to warm as she stood nude, bent over the tub.

The water flowed, warmed through her fingers and when the temperature reached her desires, she turned on the shower and stepped within the quickening warmth.

The searing heat touched her skin, caused her to step away from the spray. She reached forward to touch the water again, allowed her skin to soak in the heat as it rose in a haze from the bottom of the cool porcelain tub. She inhaled quickly and stepped back under the spray.

She heard the movement of the shower curtain, and the squeaking of footsteps behind her. She did not turn to face him and instead leant forward, braced her hand against the tiled wall as the water flowed over her face.

"Hi," she said smiling.

His hands found her middle, traced across her flat stomach to draw her away from the water. His cool, dry chest pressed against her steamy skin. "Hi," Cal said, lips vibrating against her lobe. "Thought about you in here all alone. Thought I'd join."

She craned her neck, leant against him, moved so that his lips found her neck. "You're always welcome," she confessed and turned to face him. She took him in a tight hug and stepped backward guiding him under the water with her. Their bodies warmed together as she took his lips, lingered against the stubble on his top lip.

 _Yes_ , she thought, _I love that the best_.

His hands found her lower back and rested there; enticed by the curve of her body, the way the water pooled between their bodies. Kissing, nipping, suckling, touching; all became easier in their heated surroundings.

She didn't have to give him permission anymore; he knew instantly by the way her fingertips pressed into his back, the way her tongue danced around his mouth.

No longer did he have to look in her eyes, wait for a reassuring nod.

These were the comforts of their relationship, the comforts she now relied on. It was peaceful, easy.

Easy in the way he found the points of her desire so readily, and with each change in pressure he elicited perfectly timed moans from her throat. Her lips grew red as he took her bottom lip between his teeth, pressed her back against the wall.

She arched forward, pulled away from the cold tile as it made contact with the skin of her back. Sex was not easy in the cramped confines of her shower, but she needed him, yearned for the familiar weight inside her body; the pressure and release.

He reached between her legs, and she gasped merrily against his ear as he stroked her clit. The warmth spread through her legs quickly, rolled up her body, brought a playful smile to her face. Even in the heat she felt the goosebumps trail her flesh, the hair stand on the back of her neck from the pleasure he drew from her.

He kissed her shoulder, nipped gently at her flesh.

"God, Cal..."

_These lips. These teeth. The steady motion of these fingers..._

_This is my favourite part._

He pressed himself against her leg and she returned a pleasant smile. "Not sure I can hold back today," he confessed. "Sorry, love; I'll be coming hard and quick."

"That's okay," she said. "You can make it up to me later."

"You know I bloody well will." He pushed against her as he reached down to take hold of her thigh, and lifted her leg. "Your fault really."

"My fault?" she asked flicking her tongue between his lips, relished at how he tasted like minty toothpaste. "How is this _my_ fault?"

"Too damn gorgeous for your own damn good."

She took his mouth hungrily and wrapped her leg around him, rocking quickly.

His hand found the back of her hair, the base of her neck, and he drew her closer, bracing them against the weight of her kiss.

Need, hunger, desire, gripped him quickly and he found her opening, and pushed into her forcefully. He lifted his head, held her eyes as he slowed his motions within her. He wrapped her wet hair through his fingers, pulled her head back quickly. He nipped as he kissed the line of her neck, found her lobe again with his teeth.

Her pleasure points; he was all too familiar with her now.

_How he knew her... This... This is the part._

There was the squeaking of feet on slippery porcelain and he felt her weight fall from his arms. She reached forward to take hold of unsteady curtains and stumbled over the side of the tub with Cal tumbling closely behind.

The curtain gave way, pulled from its metal eyelets, its starfish holders, and came flowing down on top of the pair.

They groaned and giggled, pushed through plastic liner and ocean blue coloured curtain to find each other, wet, red, and gasping for breath.

"Are you all right?" he asked bracing himself above her, turning his body to lift his weight from her.

She exhaled and turned, unwound her legs from his. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm all right."

"Good."

Without hesitation he clamoured on top of her, regained his positioning and guided himself within her again. Her mouth opened and she lifted her legs to wrap around his waist, comfortably rested on the bed of fresh towels beneath her.

Cooling, sticky flesh met as their bellies pressed together, as his hips rubbed against the inside of her thighs. He rocked against her quickly, leant forward to kiss her mouth as the orgasm shook his core, drained him. He collapsed, lowered his full weight on her.

Gillian closed her eyes as his raspy breath reached her ear, as his scruff rubbed against her cheek. He remained within her and they listened as the water spilled into the tub unrelenting.

 _No, this is my favourite part,_ she thought.

* * *

Dressed in a dark blue tailored suit, she sat at her vanity; curling brush in one hand, blow dryer in the other.

Seated on the edge of her bed across the room, Cal watched her carefully; meticulously seared her image into his mind. He sauntered behind her, took the brush and dryer from her hands.

"What?" she asked.

"Allow me."

She smiled nervously as her eyebrows stitched together. "You sure you're qualified, Cal?"

"I've had a ton of practice with Em." He smiled. "When she was little, all she wanted was straight hair. You're in good hands, Doctor."

She straightened her back as he set to work playing hairdresser, letting the strands of golden brown hair ease through the brush quickly as he passed the dryer over it.

The brush massaged her scalp and occasionally the tips of his fingers would trace across her neck, caused tiny shivers to develop over her skin.

All this time, and his touch still sent shockwaves through her.

He finished and turned off the blow dryer, returned her brush to the desk in front of her. He pulled styling product from a tube on her vanity and rubbed it between his hands. Unbridled shock traced her features as he carefully placed the product in her hair, ensured no hair was out of place.

She looked up to the mirror in front of her, saw Cal beaming down at her, clearly impressed with himself.

Her mouth hung open slightly. "Really, Cal? Really?"

"I told you, I've had practice," he said helping her from her chair, pulling her into his arms. "That, and I watch you."

"You know, coming from someone else..."

"Creepy?"

"Yeah." She wrinkled her nose. "Creepy."

Her clock chimed noon from her living room and the silence that followed overwhelmed her suddenly.

_Time to go._

He kissed her nose where it pulled together, pressed his forehead to hers. "Ready?"

She raised her brow. "I don't know." She inhaled nervously. "What if this doesn't work? What if the prosecutor doesn't buy it? What if he gets life, Cal? What if I screw this up for him?"

"Hey now." He pulled her closer, linked his hands together at the small of her back. "You're going to do fine, love." He placed his cheek flush against hers, lips inches from her ear. "All you can do is your part. Tell your story, Gillian. It's all you can do for Nik now."

Tears formed in her eyes, threatened to fall. "But do you think this is enough?"

He squeezed her tight. "I hope so, love. I really do."

* * *

_Two men left with their futures hanging in the balance._

_One man's plea, the key to another man's guilty verdict._

_One woman's story to change the course of the future for one._

_And with the fall of the gavel, and the careful placement of a bargaining chip, a young man is given his life back._

* * *

With her back against Cal, Gillian rested on her couch. _Titanic_ played in the background, but neither were focused on the movie. Gillian's eyes were closed as Cal played with her hair.

Her phone rang, broke the comfort within her home. Her heartbeat resounded quickly in her ears. Her pulse became thready.

_This was it._

The phone call she was waiting for.

She sat up and Cal's hands fell from her hair. She inhaled as she reached for the phone and with shaking voice answered, "Hello?"

Cal sat too, placed an arm across her back supporting her.

 _Five years with the possibility for probation._ Gillian inhaled. _Not life._

Gillian's shoulders fell forward. Her head bowed low, she closed her eyes. Nik's attorney's voice hammered on in legal jargon as her mind wandered.

_It worked. It had all worked._

Gillian's statement. Her time on the stand. The plea bargain to save Nik from life imprisonment. It was all successful.

The calming motion of Cal's hand on her hair brought her back, and she opened her eyes. She was amazed at the level of noise in her head, how it drowned out Cal's calm words beside her.

Tears in her eyes, she looked up to find Cal smiling warmly.

She heard a clicking on the other end of the line and her phone fell to her lap. "Five years," she told him. "His attorney seems to think they can get probation for the final four years."

Cal smiled. "Five years, love." He leant forward to kiss her temple, pulled back to tuck her hair behind her ear. "You did it."

"Five years."

"And the chance of probation," Cal repeated. "That's brilliant."

"Not life..." She silently willed the statement to solidify in her mind. "He has a chance now. A chance for a new start."

* * *

Gillian's heels echoed against the narrow hallways of the jail. She clutched her skirt's fabric, opened sweaty palms over her hip to smooth it against the curve of her body. She followed close to the man in the well tailored suit in front of her.

Nik's attorney, Anthony Price, turned down corridors, past rooms with blackened windows. He turned down another dimly lit hall. The air was stale; fragrant with the stench of bodily odour.

They rounded another corner to find a guard standing near a narrow opening. Behind him, the small room housed three tiny holding cells.

Gillian took in a shallow breath as she watched Nik's attorney nod slightly to the guard. The man in the dark blue uniform moved aside to let Anthony and Gillian pass by him.

Anthony stopped short just inside the door frame. He looked down at his watch, turned to Gillian and lowered his voice. "Ten minutes. It's all we have."

She nodded and smiled in thanks, took hesitant steps toward the iron bars. Before her, Nik sat on a dingy cot. A wide smile came to his face when he saw her.

"Hey," she greeted softly.

"Hey yourself," he replied and moved from the cot to meet her. "They said I was getting a visitor... Not sure if you should be down here with us hooligans, Gillian."

She moved closer to the bars and looked over her shoulder. "Your attorney pulled some strings; said it was safe."

"Did they sneak you in?"

She smiled, teeth showing. "Sort of. I wanted to come see you before... you know..."

"Yeah. Before they ship me back to Berkley and throw away the key for good."

"It won't take long," she reasoned. "It'll fly by before you know it." She bowed her head and looked down to her hands, fidgeted with her fingers slightly. "Your attorney said you were fantastic on the stand. That it was the reason..."

He cocked his head to gain her attention. He opened his arms and turned slowly for her, shook his hips. "You think I look good in orange?" he said, lightening the mood.

She exhaled slightly, released a small laugh. "Nik..."

He drew near to her and gripped the bars. Gillian focussed on his hands. _So familiar._

"Hey now," he said softening his voice. "It's over, Gillian. He's gone. It's done."

She looked up to him, eyes brimming with tears. "I suppose he got the raw end of the deal."

"He deserves it, and more."

The tears fell from her eyes in a single blink. "I don't think I'll ever be able to look at a picture of Barbara Bush again." She lowered her eyes from him again. "I can remember the smell of the mask, his stench. Those hands of his."

She focussed on Nik's hands, his knuckles which were quickly turning white in his tight grip of the iron bars. She reached up slowly and placed her open palms over his hands, left them there until she felt his grip ease under her touch. He had tears in his eyes too, and his brown eyes hardened with worry as she looked on him.

He released the bars and turned his hands to take her open palms. "I'm sorry, Gillian. I don't think I've told you how appreciative I am for all you've done. You've given me back so much, so much that I thought I was going to lose."

"Cross my heart." She smiled. "I owed you."

"You didn't owe me anything."

Gillian was becoming increasingly aware of how she was inching toward him, how quickly the iron bars were approaching; were the only thing separating them. She wished she could reach out to him, to hold him in their final moments together. She wanted to remember the time, to return some of the creature comforts he had given her when she had needed it most.

The creature comforts that had kept her from drowning; that allowed her to regain her sense of self.

She looked to her side, noticed the guard was a quiet observer in her moment with Nik.

Gillian cleared her throat carefully. "I'd like to go in there," she announced, and when the guard did not turn to her, she raised her voice. "I'd like you to open the cell."

The guard turned, looked on her with unsheltered disdain. He was obviously familiar with the situation, their relationship, their well-publicized story.

_You don't understand._

"Please," Gillian added softly. She released Nik's hands. "I'd like to go in."

Anthony nudged the guard who grunted and took heavy steps toward her. He fumbled, finally pulled an iron key out and opened the cell.

He pushed the bars aside for her. "I'll be right here," he added gruffly.

Gillian nodded and stepped hesitantly into the cell. She watched as Nik rolled his knuckles nervously.

Gillian did not wait any longer. She took shaky steps to fill the gap between them and wrapped her arms around Nik, taking him into a tight hug.

She felt the tension fall from his shoulders as he surrendered to her hold, felt the weight lift from her as he buried his face in her hair. She felt his breath warm on her neck, felt his arms lift to wrap fully around her, hands gripping to her sides.

Tears fell from her eyes, different tears than any that she had previously shed.

Not a word was said as they let the other cry softly, supported fully by the tightness of their hold.

Together in their quiet moment, the pair took what was offered to them.

A chance to end their suffering.

A moment to end it all.

A hope for a new beginning.


	17. Epilogue: Fate

_Home_.

It's what it felt like on occasion; what I longed for so readily it seemed to haunt my very soul.

I've never longed for something as much as I've longed for a sense of home.

Being single is not easy, even if I give off the impression that it could be, that it is.

Alec allowed me the creature comforts of home. Gave me the opportunity to come home, to be held, to fall asleep next to someone and hear their soft breathing by my side. I forgot how much I missed that. How much every part of my being needed that. It's as if my skin craved it, longed for it.

But Alec left me empty, used; a second-handed victim to his addiction.

He found his sense of home in his cravings and wouldn't allow me an opportunity to save him.

And God knows I tried.

I tried real damn hard.

He pushed aside my attempts to cure him, even though he saw the sadness in me; how the emptiness left me loveless, husband-less. He left me with no choice but to walk away. His addiction slowly ate away at our marriage, but I wouldn't allow it to slowly eat away at me.

It left me without a home; what I thought could have been a home.

 _Home_.

Sounds so incredibly plausible, so easy, doesn't it? That saying about how "Home is where you lay your hat" never made sense to me. I never believed in it. I never knew why.

Until Cal.

Until I felt the touch of his hand to my shoulder, my lower back. Until he placed his fingers on my skin, sent electric shockwaves over my body. It was frightening, scary even, an out of body experience, to see the way I could gravitate toward him, allow him to take control.

Gillian Foster... allowing yet another man to take control.

But it was more than that. Cal _is_ more than that.

There was comfort in that sense of powerlessness. Cal would pull back, push forward exactly as I needed him to. He never left me alone, never gave me the fleeting chance to tell him to stop. He let me work out what I needed to, at exactly the right time.

No. Home had nothing to do with some silly hat.

Cal eased the pain; helped me make sense of my troubled mind.

I tried to reason with the feelings inside, truly I did. I tried to psycho analyze every little ache, every little daydream, every little image that would come to my mind. Cal allowed me the opportunity to ease into these thoughts, to allow them to fill my mind and accept them for what they were.

He reminded me of the Gestalt prayer and the words of Dr. Fritz Perls that I learnt in my early years at University, when I was younger, and more open to all possibilities.

Dr. Perls said, "I am I and you are you. I am not in this world to live up to your expectations, and you are not in this world to live up to mine. You are you, and I am I, and if by chance we find each other, it's beautiful. If not, it can't be helped."

Knowing full well how much I prided myself in independence, Cal offered me the opportunity to find myself, to rely on myself and less on others. He allowed me the opportunity to dive into my subconscious with a supportive lead, yet he maintained his distance. He perfectly altered his own desires to meet my own, and gave me the chance to find my independence again.

Yet he never left my side. And when I needed to lean on him, when the pressure was too much to handle, when my body seemed too worn down and my mind too tired to make sense of the present, he was there, was my backbone; my shelter if I needed it.

And as easily as he had held me, he let me go against his own personal need, his own desires to be my hero, my knight in shining armour. He let me stand on my own two feet again, get back my sense of self, get back _the_ Gillian Foster, that I needed; the Gillian that I knew he loved.

And then there was Nik; my beautiful Nik. Time allowed me the opportunity to accept the feelings I had for him. I allowed myself to succumb to the images that plagued my dreams; images of him when I felt I should have been dreaming of Cal.

And Cal never faltered in believing I could make sense of it. And I did.

Nik was my solace, my touchstone through the whole ordeal. He gave me everything he could to help me keep a level head. It pains me to think what would have happened if I didn't have him; those caring arms to hold me at night, when I was frightened most.

I wish Nik all best in this hard time ahead for him as he tries to survive; to look forward to a life of freedom, a life where he can be his own man.

I find comfort in knowing he will always be dear to me; that he will always be _my_ _Nik_.

And with my new independence, I look ahead with hope and claim my sense of home.

And with skilled placement, I move my heavy pawn piece in its rightful spot, and take what is mine.

_Checkmate._

* * *

~ fin


End file.
